Visiting Mars
by Brownbug
Summary: Set after "The Lodger". Instead of landing in Colchester to pick up the Doctor, the TARDIS strands Amy in 1974 Manchester. She is alone in a strange time and place with no Doctor, no TARDIS and no resources. But that's just the start of her problems...**NOW COMPLETE!**
1. Chapter 1

_**Obligatory Disclaimer: As you have probably already guessed , I don't own anything to do with Life on Mars or Doctor Who.**_

_**Summary: Set just after the Dr Who episode "The Lodger". The TARDIS has emerged from the materialisation loop, but instead of landing in Colchester to pick up the Doctor, it accidently strands Amy in 1974 Manchester. She is alone in a strange time and place with no Doctor, no TARDIS and absolutely no resources. But that's just the start of her problems...**_

_**Author's Note: Sam Tyler is Sam Tyler in this one (ie not the Master). No pairings. Rated T for Gene Genie's occasionally colourful language.  
**_

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

The landscape was ugly, pitted and gnarled like a war zone. It was a wide wasteland, dotted with small mountains of discarded debris – broken bricks, decaying timber, twisted sheets of corrugated iron, old oil tanks, perished tyres and any amount of other detritus left over from the destruction of the buildings which once stood proudly there. Noxious smoke rose lazily in the air from some of the piles, mute evidence of the lackadaisical efforts of the local council workers to clear up some of the encroaching rubbish.

Mother Nature was already busy trying to reclaim the abandoned tract of land, laying down a carpet of knee-high weeds, a profusion of yellow flowers nodding in the light breeze, contrasting sharply with the filth and soot left behind by the human inhabitants.

Deserted old factories and vacant, condemned houses surrounded the area, overlooking the miserable wilderness with dark, broken windows like sad, empty eyes, mere echoes of the bustling life which had once burgeoned here.

The atmosphere was sticky and sultry, dark clouds massing on the horizon like a welter of dark bruises. There was a thunderstorm coming and it was not far away.

Nobody noticed the sudden appearance of a incongruous blue police box, fading in and out for a few moments with a wheezing, groaning sound and then taking solid form amongst the tangled weeds, the light on top flashing like a warning beacon.

The doors were flung abruptly open and a girl with long red hair emerged, rather inappropriately dressed in a short black skirt.

"Doctor?" she called, rapidly looking around her. "Doctor!"

Taking in the bleak surroundings, a frown creased her forehead. "Wait a minute!" she said crossly, turning back to the police box. "This isn't Colchester..."

Before she could complete the sentence, the light on top of the blue box began to flash again and, complete with more wheezing and groaning, it de-materialised once more, leaving the girl standing alone in the middle of nowhere.

"_Hey_!" Amy Pond shouted angrily. "Hey, TARDIS, come back here!"

Nothing happened, the space in front of her remaining mockingly empty.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be joking me!" she exclaimed, kicking furiously at the gravelled ground with her red Converse sneakers. "Stupid, unreliable time machine...just as bad as it's stupid, unreliable owner!"

She gazed around her again, noting the ominous dark clouds overhead. "Oh great, I have no idea where I am and it's about to rain."

Raising her face to the sky she yelled, "OI, DOCTOR, WHEREVER YOU ARE, YOU'D BETTER WORK THIS OUT AND COME AND GET ME, OR _ELSE_!"

Sulkily, she plonked herself down on a pile of rubble and began to compulsively rip the heads off some of the nearby weeds. "And you'd better not take twelve years to do it this time, either!" she muttered threateningly.

* * *

"Please, Tom, don't go in there. I don't like it!"

"Don't be such a nancy-boy, Andy. I only wanna check it out and see if there's anything worth nicking!"

"It doesn't feel right. There could be anything in there...it's dead creepy," ten-year-old Andy whined, looking up at the blank windows of the condemned cottage. "Let's just go get some chips and forget about it, eh?"

"_It doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel right..._" sixteen-year-old Tom sing-songed derisively. "God, how did I ever get stuck with a sissy little plonker like you as a brother? Look, you stay out here and keep watch. I'm going in for a reccy. Just try not to piss yourself while you're waiting, OK?"

With that, he walked up the overgrown path and vanished around the side of the house. Andy hunkered down just inside the broken front gate, cautiously watching an old lady walking her dog nearby. He wished Tom wouldn't treat him like such a div. After all, he was ten years old now, not a baby. He wished he could be braver. Tom was always brave. He never worried about ghosts or monsters or space aliens or any of the things Andy worried about. But no matter how often Tom told him that such things didn't exist, Andy could never quite believe it. Somehow he just knew there was more out there, an unseen world which moved just beyond the scope of his vision, so much more than the boring, mundane life he knew.

Andy sank into a pleasant daydream where he saved his older brother from a monster and Tom had to admit that Andy had been right all along.

Just then, the terrifying, blood-curdling screams began from inside the house, over and over in increasing intensity, turning the blood in his veins to liquid ice, his heart clutching with horror. Without stopping to think, the little boy leapt up and ran blindly away, determined to get help.

High above, an unearthly white face stared unseen out of an upstairs window, watching him leave with cold, dead eyes.

* * *

Amy was trying to decide what to do. She had already been waiting for an hour. It was getting colder now as the afternoon grew later. The light breeze had strengthened to a teasing, gusty little wind and the heavy rain clouds were now directly overhead. She knew she would soon have to seek shelter of some sort, but she was reluctant to move in case the TARDIS came back or the Doctor came looking for her.

Much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to feel scared. What if he never came? She had no idea where in time and space she was. It looked like Earth, but what if it wasn't? She was completely alone in a strange place with absolutely no resources.

But she trusted the Doctor, of course she did. He had never let her down before. Except for that whole twelve year wait thing. Oh God, she didn't even want to think about that! Just the thought of waiting here for twelve years gave her the heebie-jeebies.

The truth was, he _had _been acting a bit weird lately. Well, weirder than usual, anyway. After all, the Doctor was the definition of strange at the best of times. What else could you expect from a nine hundred year old alien zipping around the universe in a blue police box? But recently, he had been even more peculiar, almost erratic in his behaviour. One minute he was upbeat, racing around the TARDIS console, talking a mile a minute in an overly-bright, frenetic fashion, offering her the choice of a bewildering array of destinations, as though he was trying to compensate her for something she was lacking. The next minute he was hideously grumpy and morose, moping about like he had lost his last friend, snapping at her for anything and everything she said.

And the questions! Always asking her questions about her early life and the people she had known, staring penetratingly into her face as she answered, seemingly expecting some sort of amazing revelation. Somehow he always seemed disappointed with her responses, as though she hadn't given him the answer he had been looking for, as though she had missed some mysterious, essential point in their discussion.

The really strange thing was, she hadn't been feeling quite herself either. Sometimes, like the time they had visited Vincent Van Gogh, she had discovered tears on her face for no reason at all, tears she hadn't even realised she had wept. Vincent had sensed a deep sadness within her, or so he had said, something that was missing. But nothing _was_ missing, was it? She had everything she could possibly want, her life was perfect – or would be, if the Doctor would just settle down and stop being so peculiar. And yet, and yet...sometimes when she looked up quickly, it was almost as if she expected to see someone else in the console room with them, as though an unseen, ghostly third person haunted the TARDIS. Which was completely ridiculous, because the whole time she had been with the Doctor, there had _never_ been anyone else travelling with them.

Amy sighed, pushing the odd thoughts to the back of her mind again. The Doctor's jumpiness was rubbing off on her, that was all. Anyway, that was the least of her worries at the moment. The real question was, what was she going to do right now?

Suddenly, she saw a small dark-haired boy running full tilt towards her, across the expanse of waste ground. As she watched he tripped and fell heavily, sprawling across the rough ground, before dragging himself upright again and continuing desperately on, his hands and knees lacerated and bloody.

"Miss!" he screamed. "Miss, please, ya gotta help! Ya gotta help me!"

Amy leapt to her feet and ran towards him, closing the distance between them.

"What is it?" she demanded, catching him by the shoulders. "What's happened? Is someone after you?"

The child was completely distraught, drawing in great ragged, sobbing breaths, his small body trembling from head to foot.

"It's Tom!" he forced out in an agonised voice. "I think summat's gone and kilt Tom!"

"Who's Tom? What happened to him?" Amy asked urgently.

"He's my big brother. He went inside an old house and there was awful screamin'. Something bad got him, I just know it!" the little boy wept, his sharp-featured face smeared with tears and mucus. "Please, ya gotta come and help him!"

Amy looked reluctantly back over her shoulder at the still-deserted wasteland. She had big problems of her own right now and she really didn't want to leave the last place she had seen the TARDIS. But the child was virtually hysterical. There was no way she could resist his plea for help.

She sighed deeply and then asked in a resigned voice, "What's your name, kid?"

"A...A...Andy!" he gulped.

"Nice to meet you, Andy, I'm Amy. Now let's go find your brother."

The little boy's terrified face brightened and he turned and ran off again, clearly leading the way and intending her to follow. Amy kept up as best as she could, which was no easy task in her short, tight skirt, the rampant undergrowth whispering and catching at her long, stockinged legs.

As they reached the edge of the wasteland, she noticed a huge billboard had been erected, displaying a brightly coloured picture of a highway raised up on immense pylons, transversed by a multitude of busy cars.

The advertising blurb read: "COMING SOON, MANCHESTER'S HIGHWAY IN THE SKY."

"_Manchester_!" Amy exclaimed aloud. Well, at least now she knew it was definitely Earth – but what the hell was the TARDIS doing stranding her in Manchester, of all places?

Overhead, a loud peal of thunder rolled ominously across the sky and the first fat drops of rain began to fall.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note: Hi there! Yep, I know, long time no typey-type! I am still alive, but I've been busy with my other stories. _**

**_Thanks to all the people who have reviewed so far (and have probably died from old age waiting for the next chapter): KlinicallyInsaneKoschei, Blues-harp Babysplit, Fallen Darkness, 3LW00D, Omniac, xxCoffee-and-Creamxx, Jiwa and Doyle0915._**

**_Thanks also to the heaps of people who have alerted this - I apologise for the long delay. Please don't give up on me, I will try and be better about updating from now on. _**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

Andy ran as fast as he could, looking back desperately every now and then to make sure Amy was following. In a matter of minutes, they came to a nearby narrow lane, framed on both sides by rows of dilapidated, soot-stained, red-brick terraced cottages, huddled closely together like shabby tramps trying to keep warm, their tiny front gardens overrun with weeds and refuse. Each cottage door bore a bright yellow sign nailed haphazardly to its peeling surface: MARKED FOR DEMOLITION.

The little boy led the way to the end terrace, closest to the wasteland they had just come from.

"In 'ere, Miss!" he gasped. "This is where Tom went!"

Amy looked at the derelict building with distaste, turning the collar of her jacket up against the rain, which was beginning to fall heavily by now. The old cottages were built in the classic two-up, two-down style common to Northern English towns, built during the late nineteenth century to house factory workers drawn to the cities during the Industrial Revolution. These particular terraces looked like they had not been inhabited for a very long time.

"In there?" she said, reluctantly eyeing the dark, gaping windows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Miss!" Andy replied frantically. "He went round the back! Please, Miss, please help him!"

With a sigh, Amy stepped inside the ancient gate and began to pick her way gingerly up the path to the front door. She had no intention of going around the back if she could possibly avoid it. The front of the place looked quite bad enough, thank you very much. Reaching the faded blue door, she reached out and turned the handle, not really expecting it to be unlocked. To her surprise, it swung open under her hand with a long, drawn-out creak, an eerie sound which sent a cold shiver up her spine.

Behind her, the first stripe of lightning split the earth from the sky, the stark white glare illuminating the tiny hallway inside the cottage, disclosing several interior doorways and some narrow stairs leading up to the upper regions of the house. At the same moment, a massive clap of thunder made Amy jump nearly out of her skin. Swallowing hard, she glanced back at Andy, who was still hovering near the gate.

"Well, at least it looks a bit drier in there!" she said, trying to inject some reassuring cheerfulness into her voice. "Are you coming?"

The little boy shook his head, unmindful of the rain streaming from his dark hair, his eyes huge and terrified in his pale face.

"Looks like it's just me then," Amy muttered ruefully, taking a step forward into the darkened hallway.

Then she looked back one more time. "Andy, what year is it?"

The child stared at her as if she had gone mad. "1974, Miss."

"Of course it is. How silly of me!" Amy responded wryly, silently cursing the runaway TARDIS. Not only was she in the wrong place, she was in completely the wrong time. "1974 Manchester. As good a place as any, I guess."

With that, she walked into the cottage. Immediately, she was enveloped in a foetid, stomach-turning stench. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she identified the mingled aromas of rampant mildew, stale urine and ancient boiled cabbage. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a small torch. She had learnt the hard way to be prepared for unexpectedly entering dark places. Travelling with the Doctor, it was an occupational hazard. Flicking the thin beam of light around, she saw filthy, mildewed walls, liberally festooned with rotting wallpaper and thick curtains of grey cobweb. Here and there, scrawled words and obscenities glared out at her. Amy couldn't help smiling as she read "FRODO LIVES", emblazoned in large, red letters on the wall just inside the front door. Obviously, pointless graffiti had been just as much a problem in the 1970s as it was in her own time.

Her smile did not last for long. Somehow, the whole house had an odd feel to it, a dark sense of apprehension, as if something was lurking in the shadows, watching her. And yet, whenever she turned around and shone the light behind her, there was nothing there, just lifeless piles of dust endlessly sifting along the floor in the draft from the open door.

_Come on, Amy,_ she told herself sternly. _Pull yourself together. _ _Of course you're nervous! You're in a derelict house in the middle of a thunderstorm!_

As if on cue, another deafening crack of thunder roared directly above her and more lightening streaked across the sky. Amy shivered, the cold damp strands of her hair clinging to the back of her neck like a clammy hand. The creeping sensation nagged at the edges of her mind. It was almost _familiar_, as though she had felt it before.

Forcing herself to move, she walked through one of the doors into what she assumed had once been a sitting room. It was virtually empty now, furnished only by an old red velvet sofa with half the stuffing pulled out. A tiny movement caught her eye. Flashing the torch in an abrupt arc, she heard a faint squeaking sound and realised that a family of mice had made a nest in the decaying fabric and were squirming around in the stuffing.

Giving the obscenely heaving couch a wide berth, she edged into the kitchen. Here, everything was still. There was no sign of life. Ancient cupboard doors hung forlornly open, their shelves empty of contents. A single tap dripped slowly, the drops of water falling like tears into the rusted sink, the monotonous sound echoing in the silence and getting on Amy's nerves. Tattered curtains blew in the breeze admitted by the jaggedly-broken window panes. It was getting very dark outside now. The flashes of lightning were almost constant. Amy could see the minuscule backyard of the cottage through the shattered window, lighting up in harsh relief every time the bright light blazed across the heavens. The waist high weeds and the overgrown bushes waved and danced in the rising wind, but Amy could see nothing else out there.

The only other door leading from the hallway was under the stairs. Amy cracked it open and shone her torch inside. The thin beam of light seemed to be swallowed by the oppressive darkness. From the moist, dank smell rising to her nostrils, Amy guessed that this door led down to a cellar. Quickly, she pulled the door closed again with a sharp bang. Dark cellars in creepy houses were _definitely_ not her thing. She would try upstairs first – hopefully she would find Andy's brother safe and sound up there. Then there would be no need to go down into the cellar at all. And if Tom _wasn't_ upstairs...well, she would worry about that if it happened.

She turned towards the stairs, rubbing irritably at her left eye. This place was so rancid and dusty – she couldn't wait to get out of here. It felt a bit like she had a large piece of sandpaper embedded under her eyelid.

Cautiously, she ascended the stairs, each tread creaking under her weight, the banisters wobbling ominously. She found Tom in the first room she came to, an empty, disused bedroom. He was sprawled on his back on the floor in an inelegant tangle of limbs. With a sharp exclamation, Amy rushed over to him and dropped to her knees by his side. She was no doctor – in fact, she had very little first aid training at all, since it wasn't exactly required for her job as a kissogram. But she didn't need a medical degree to tell that Tom was dead. His eyes gazed unseeingly up at the ceiling, his face stretched in a horrifying rictus of terror. His head was twisted at an extremely unnatural angle to the rest of his body, as though a giant hand had tried to wrench it from his neck.

"Oh my God!" Amy whispered, staring at the dead boy's agonised expression, nausea rising in her stomach.

For a moment, she was paralysed with horror. What should she do? How was she going to tell the terrified child waiting downstairs that his brother was dead? She was a stranger here, she didn't belong in 1974 – she couldn't get involved. How on Earth would she explain to the authorities what she was doing here?

_Oh god, where was the Doctor when she needed him?_

And then she heard it - the steady, dreadful creaking of the stairs. Sudden terror coiled in her guts, her breath catching painfully in her throat. Someone...no, not someone, some_thing._..was ascending, something with slow, heavy footsteps. Again she felt it, the crushing, oppressive sense of evil; the feeling that something unnatural was nearby, ruthless and inexorable and unstoppable. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Without a doubt, she knew that the thing coming up those stairs was not human. Whatever it was, it had brutally murdered Andy's brother without mercy or compunction.

And now it was coming for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's Note: Surprise! At last, an update! Hopefully there are still some folks out there still reading! Thank you very much to the people who reviewed the last chapter - Romana II, Omniac, Jiwa, The New Number 2, CjaMes12, katherine and Aietradaea. I appreciate your feedback very much. It would be nice if I got a few reviews on this chapter too - it might encourage me to update a little more often.  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

Thunder boomed loudly, closely followed by an eerie flash of lightning, briefly bathing the drab little room in a stark white glow. Choking back the panic, Amy ran to the window, grasping the bottom sash and frantically trying to slide it up. But no matter how hard she shoved, it wouldn't budge. Shining her torch around the window frame, she realised it had been securely nailed shut. Smashing it open wasn't an option either – the window was the old-fashioned, mullioned kind, made up of a number of smaller panels of glass, unbreakable without an extremely heavy implement of some sort.

She whirled around, her heart beating like a drum as her gaze skittered around the room, searching for an escape route. The footsteps were closer now, leaden and ominous, nearing the top of the stairs. _Oh god, she was running out of time!_

Across the room, a cupboard door hung lazily open, swinging slightly in an unseen draught, offering the only place of concealment in the bare little room. Without further hesitation, acting on pure instinct, Amy began to race across to it.

But, to her absolute horror, before she had taken three steps, her torch flickered and went out, enveloping her in inky darkness.

"No. No. Come on, don't do this!" she said, her lips moving in a tortured whisper, desperately slamming the torch against her thigh. It was no use – the light refused to reappear. A scream built soundlessly in her throat. She was alone in the dark with a mutilated corpse and a murderer was coming for her. Knowing she had no choice, she forced herself to keep moving through the blackness, almost expecting Tom's dead hand to clamp around her ankle at any moment.

Brilliant lightning flared again. Taking advantage of the brightness, she managed to make it safely across to the cupboard, slipping inside as quickly and as quietly as possible. Hunkering down, making herself as small as she could, she pulled the door almost closed, leaving only a tiny gap which enabled her to peer out into the room.

A rushing sound filled her ears, a sick sense of having done all this before. She could remember hiding in her wardrobe as a child, at night, just like this, when her fear of the crack in the wall grew too great to bear. Little Amelia Pond had peeked out at the malevolent fissure, shuddering as it grinned at her, praying and praying, over and over, for someone to save her. And someone had – eventually the Doctor had come.

She heard the creak of the landing, accompanied by a peculiar, spine-chilling grinding noise. The awful_ thing_, whatever it was, had reached the top of the stairs.

_Doctor, please come, _she begged silently, her eye glued in terrified fascination to the gap in the cupboard door, staring out into the darkness. _Please come NOW!_

She blinked, rubbing at her left eye again, feeling soft, powdery grit smeared across her cheek, almost as if it was delicately sifting from her eye. The sudden roar of thunder stabbed through her like a knife, making her jump. Lightning blazed, streaking across the night sky and illuminating the room until it was brighter than day.

And in that glare of light, Amy saw it_ - standing in the doorway, a slender white, ethereal figure, framed by two spreading stone wings, its terrible face buried in its hands, as though it was hiding tears._

Shock screamed through her mind as the white light faded and the apparition disappeared. Terror seemed to crawl out of the shadowy recesses of her soul, a spreading disbelief numbing her entire body.

_No...NO, this wasn't happening! How could it be possible? How could a Weeping Angel, one of the most frightening monsters in the Universe, be here on Earth?_

Again, the thunder boomed, cracking through the air like a giant whip, accompanied by another dazzling streak of lightning. The Angel stood stock still, paralysed in the white light, as immobile as stone. But it had _moved_. It was much, much closer, near the middle of the room, not far from Tom's pathetically sprawled body. Its hands were no longer covering its face and its head was turned, its marble eyes fixed unwaveringly on the cupboard in which the human girl was hiding.

Agonised, Amy sucked in her breath, aware that her rasping, panic-stricken inhalations were betraying her hiding place. Her heart felt like it was about to leap out of her chest. The darkness was absolute, her fear overwhelming. There was nowhere to run, no escape route - she was completely helpless, trapped, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. _What was the Angel doing?_ Where was the next blast of lightning? She had to see, she had to _know_...

_Flash! _The white light exploded through the window, like a thousand cameras going off at once. And now the Angel stood frozen right outside the closet door. Its arms were raised above its head, its fingers spread into menacing long-nailed claws, as if it was preparing to leap. Its face was stretched and horribly elongated, its mouth opened wide in a silent, predatory howl, its long tongue lolling over razor sharp fangs.

The deadly blackness descended again and Amy shrieked in terror, sensing the stone hands reaching for her through the dark, knowing she was doomed. The sound rent the night, reverberating with terror, long and loud and piercing.

To her utter shock, there was an answering shout from downstairs, the incredibly welcome sound of several pairs of running feet. The lightning flashed again, only to show an empty room. The Angel had vanished. Dazed with relief, Amy heard more people on the stairs, male voices yelling orders, bright arcs of torchlight bobbing around on the landing walls.

Shielding her eyes against the dancing beams, Amy managed to make out four men entering the room.

"Come on, Christopher! Stop pissing around like a prat and get that lantern going!" a rough voice ordered.

"Yes, Guv," a younger man replied. "Sorry, Guv." There was a bit of scuffling and some muffled swearing and then the room began to glow with a warm, golden light, emanating from what appeared to be a paraffin lamp.

"That's better!" the first man approved.

Amy watched from her hiding place, her heart still thumping uncomfortably. Standing in the lamplight, she saw a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a long, camel-coloured coat over an ill-fitting grey suit. The top button of his white shirt was undone, his tie hanging halfway down his chest in a dishevelled fashion and he had sandy hair swept casually back from his forehead. His stance was arrogant, reminding Amy somehow of a gunfighter at high noon in an old Western film, the keen eyes in his weathered face constantly sweeping the room, missing nothing.

The younger man, who was still fiddling clumsily with the lantern, had floppy dark hair and was dressed in a brown suit over a green woollen vest, with a maroon tie. Two other men were crouching beside Tom's body, examining it closely. One was short and chunky, with a moustache, wearing a chocolate-coloured corduroy coat, his mouth moving rhythmically as he chewed on some gum. The other had neatly-trimmed brown hair with longish sideburns and was wearing a black leather jacket.

Amy stared at the man in the leather jacket. It was hard to see his face exactly in the flickering lamplight, but she thought he looked oddly familiar. She racked her brains, trying to remember, trying to place him. Somehow she had the idea she had seen his face on television before and maybe on...posters? No, that was crazy – she had never been in 1974 before. And there was no way she could have seen him in her own time.

"This one's got a broken neck, Guv," the strange man said. "Been dead for a while, by the look of it. He's cold."

"In case you've forgotten, Tyler, someone just screamed up here," retorted the one in the camel coat. "Unless you think this bloody shack's haunted."

As if on cue, his gimlet eyes shifted sharply to the cupboard where Amy was concealed. Again, she held her breath, her body tight with tension. But this time her luck had run out. The man took three quick strides and pulled the door wide.

"Well, well, well. And just what do we have here?" he asked ironically, looking down at the crouching girl with narrowed eyes. "What's _your_ name, love?"

She glared defiantly up at him, guessing she was in real trouble. "Amy," she answered. "Amy Pond."

"Well, Amy Pond, I'm Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt," he told her in a grim tone. "And you've got a lot of explaining to do."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's Note: OK, just to prove that I can, here's a QUICK update to this one! Thank you very much to the following people who took the time to review the last chapter, this update is really thanks to your encouragement:- Romana-II, CJaMes2, SawManiac211, phantomviola, KlinicallyInsaneKoschei, Aietradaea and 3LWOOD_._ Hope you like this chapter!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Amy looked around her incredulously, suddenly wondering if she was actually asleep in her own bed, having some kind of weird nightmare. First the TARDIS running off and leaving her in a freaky thunderstorm, then the creepy, deserted house, complete with a Weeping Angel, and now _this_. She was not exactly familiar with police procedures, even in her own time. In fact, the closest she had ever come to being involved with the police had been dressing up as a policewoman with a very short skirt as part of her job as a kiss-o-gram. But she certainly hadn't been expecting this.

She was seated on an uncomfortable, metal chair behind a rickety table in a dim, dank room that smelled suspiciously like old sneakers and stale cigarette smoke.

Everything seemed to have happened in fast-forward since her encounter with Detective Chief Inspector Hunt. The man was a human whirlwind. Before she could even attempt any sort of explanation, she had been unceremoniously extracted from the cupboard and bundled down the stairs into the back seat of an orange Ford Cortina.

DCI Hunt and the man in the leather jacket, who Amy gathered was named Detective Inspector Tyler, had climbed into the front seat, while the other two men remained behind to continue their investigation of the cottage. Amy tried to protest, wanting to warn them that the Angel was still in there, but was rudely told by Hunt to "shut it" until they arrived at the station. He then proceeded to drive the car at a break-neck pace through the darkened streets of Manchester, despite several pleas from DI Tyler to slow down, which went completely unheeded apart from a grunted comment that Tyler needed to stop being such a "nancy-boy". Amy could do nothing but close her eyes and hold on as tightly as she could, wondering dizzily if she would have perhaps been wiser to take her chances with the Weeping Angel after all.

Upon arriving at the grim, grey, multi-storey police station, she had been hustled up to the second floor, which apparently housed the best and the brightest of the Manchester and Salford Police's A-Division CID. She had been expecting to be taken to a stark, cold, clinical interrogation room - probably with one of those two-way mirror thingamajigs, just like in the movies. Instead, she had been ushered through a shabby old door inexplicably marked "Lost and Found".

Old fashioned fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, bathing everything in an unhealthy, urine-coloured glow. The only window was situated at the very back of the room, a long, narrow, barred pane of glass set high in the wall, through which intermittent flashes of lightning could still be seen blasting across the night sky. The room was crowded with banks of unstable-looking shelving, enclosed with metal mesh. To Amy's surprise, this appeared to be some sort of disorganised storage facility for a wide and astonishing variety of miscellanea, including such assorted things as several old bowling trophies, a pile of bright orange "witch's hat" road cones, a battered old baby's pram and even a bright red dress-maker's dummy wearing an incongruous bow tie.

A lump came to Amy's throat as she looked at this last item – the silly bow tie reminded her of the Doctor and suddenly she felt very tired, very lonely and very vulnerable. Blinking back tears, she found herself wondering hysterically if DCI Hunt meant to stack her on one of these dusty shelves and abandon her, waiting for the Doctor to come and collect her, just another piece of lost property like all these other forgotten things. Instead, he and Tyler had just disappeared, leaving her sitting at the table, cooling her heels while they went and did goodness knows what.

After an hour of waiting, her temper had just about reached boiling point, her rising anger overcoming her other emotions. While she was stuck in here, the Doctor was probably fruitlessly searching the wasteland for her. What if he couldn't find her? What if she was stuck here in 1974 forever, thanks to DCI Gene Hunt and his Keystone Cops? Not to mention the fact that while they bumbled around, there was a Weeping Angel still wandering around Manchester killing people.

Her eyes fixed furiously on to the entrance of the room. When DCI Hunt finally returned, he was going to get a piece of her mind!

* * *

Detective Sergeant Ray Carling took a long, irritable drag of his cigarette. Typical! _Bloody_ typical! He _would_ get stuck here with DC Chris Skelton in this dark, freezing cold, leaky cottage in the middle of a storm, while Hunt and Tyler got to escort a good-looking bird back to the nice warm station. Talk about privileges of rank!

"We'd better take a shufty at the kitchen, I s'pose," Chris said, swinging the lantern around in an arc, making the eerie shadows dance on the walls of the downstairs hallway. "The meat wagon will be here in a minute, to take the body away."

"Yeah," Ray agreed unenthusiastically, following his colleague towards the kitchen door. "S'pose."

He wished he was back in the Railway Arms, with a pint of bitter in front of him, eyeing off the new barmaid. Now _she _had a rack on her to die for, a right nice handful! He wondered idly if she had a regular bloke. If not, maybe he could talk her into coming out to the flicks with him some time. Now that would be something.

Just then, his musings were rudely interrupted by an astonished exclamation from Chris. "Bloody hell!"

Standing in the corner of the tiny kitchen, glowing whitely in the lamplight, was a life-size statue of an angel. Ray stared at it in disbelief, sure he was seeing things. He wasn't much of a one for appreciating art, but even he had to admit that the statue was eerily beautiful, with its sweeping, widespread wings and its flowing gown. Its face was hidden in its hands, as though it was weeping.

"What do you think it's doing here?" Chris asked, his voice not much more than an awed whisper.

"How the hell would I know, you dozy dimmock?" Ray retorted crossly. "Maybe it walked here."

Chris gave him a hurt look. "No need to be so narky, Ray."

Ray dropped his cigarette on the dusty floor and stubbed it out with a deep sigh. "It's obviously been nicked, from a cemetery or something. It's probably valuable."

"I reckon we'll have to get it back to the station then. We can't just leave it here, something might happen to it," the young DC replied. "Anyway, the Guv will probably want it for evidence."

"Tyler will probably want to treat it as a suspect and interview it," Ray said with a sarcastic snigger. "Leave no stone unturned, Chris, leave no stone unturned."

Chris tried unsuccessfully to smother a grin at the ridiculous image. It was no secret that the Boss and Ray did not exactly see eye-to-eye when it came to criminal investigation, or anything else at all, come to that. And as much as Chris respected his DI, there was no doubt that Tyler had a definite reputation for being extremely pedantic – or, as Ray often put it, "having a stick shoved up his ass sideways".

"I'd better call for another wagon then," he said, reaching for his hand-held radio.

* * *

"How long are you going to keep her waiting for in there, Guv?" Sam demanded, standing insistently in front of Gene's desk. The DCI had his feet up and was interestedly examining the centrefold of a Playboy magazine, turning it from side to side, apparently trying to discover the best viewing angle. "You won't get anything out of her if you get her back up."

"That's all you know, Dorothy," Gene retorted. "It's a recognised interrogation technique. Let 'em sweat for a while and they'll tell you everything."

"Yeah, a technique for _suspects_," Sam shot back. "But she's not a suspect, she's a witness."

"Is that right, sunshine? Well, I beg to differ. She was the only one apprehended at the scene of the crime. I'd say that makes her pretty bloody suspect to me."

Sam stared at him incredulously. "You can't seriously think that a female of that size and weight could possibly have snapped that bloke's neck? His head was nearly ripped from his shoulders. Even a tall, strong man would have had trouble doing that much damage."

Gene dumped his magazine on his desk, his face hard as he glared up at his subordinate. "Exactly. And he's the third victim killed in precisely the same way, in the same area, this week. This is more than just a murder investigation, Tyler. There's something strange going on in my city and I don't like it. And Miss Amelia Pond is our only concrete lead so far. So, if you don't mind, we'll do this _my_ way."

Sam sighed. He had learned from bitter experience that there was little point in arguing with Gene when he had his mind set on something, as it only made the man dig his heels in even harder. His boss was right about one thing though – there was definitely something very strange about these killings. Sam had seen a lot of murders in his time, but the appalling level of violence involved in these was something he had never come across before. It was almost...inhuman. His logical, clear-cut mind veered away from the idea immediately, rejecting it out of hand. There was no way he believed in the supernatural, it just wasn't possible. But, to his dismay, the thought refused to go away, hovering insidiously in the back of his brain.

Once upon a time, back in 2006, Sam Tyler hadn't believed in time travel either. And yet, here he was, living in 1974.

_What if other impossible things weren't quite so impossible after all?_

An inexplicable shiver traced up his spine. Suddenly, he was very, very glad that his fiancee Annie was far away in the Lake District, on holiday with her sister. Right now, he didn't want her anywhere _near_ Manchester.

* * *

At last, Amy heard the door creak open and DCI Hunt and DI Tyler walked around the banks of shelving, heading towards her. DI Tyler was holding an old-fashioned tape recorder in his hand.

"About time!" she exclaimed angrily. "Took you long enough!"

"Sorry to keep you waiting, love, didn't realise you were on a tight schedule!" Hunt retorted.

"Yeah? Well, here's the thing, Detective Chief Inspector, I don't _like_ waiting!" Amy said coldly. "I've already done too much of it in my life and I don't intend to do any more! So hurry up and ask your questions and let me out of here."

"Only too happy to oblige, darling," Hunt replied sarcastically, taking a seat at the table opposite her. "DI Tyler, if you wouldn't mind..."

Tyler pressed the record button on the tape deck and spoke clearly into the microphone. "28 October 1974, interview with Amy Pond, commencing 7:03pm. Officers present – DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler."

"Wait a minute!" Amy interrupted, recognition suddenly blasting through her brain as she saw his face at close quarters. "I know you! I couldn't think where I'd seen you before, but you're that politician bloke...the one that became Prime Minister and went mad. The one that killed the President of the United States. Saxon...Harold Saxon, that's it!"

Hunt and Tyler exchanged a speaking glance. Amy saw it and could have bitten her tongue out. Why had on Earth she said anything? It was so obvious what they were thinking. They thought she was off her rocker, completely mad. And why wouldn't they? Harold Saxon probably hadn't even been born yet in 1974. But she remembered all those election posters, all those speeches on the TV when she was younger, living in Leadworth...Tyler looked so much like Harold Saxon – they could have been twins.

"I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else. My name is Detective Inspector Sam Tyler," the policeman said gently. "I've never heard of anyone named Harold Saxon."

"Sorry," Amy muttered. "My mistake."

Both Tyler and Hunt were staring at her hand where it rested on the table top. Surprised, she realised she was compulsively tapping out a four beat rhythm, over and over again. With a conscious effort, she forced herself to stop, folding her arms and glaring at them.

"O...kay," Hunt drawled, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Now that we've sorted out that my DI isn't moonlighting as the Prime Minister of Britain, maybe you could find the time to tell me exactly what you know about the murder of Tom Reynolds?"

Amy swallowed hard. What should she say? She could lie, but that would mean that the Angel would be free to continue unhindered on its killing spree. But if she told the truth, she would probably end up locked up in an insane asylum.

"What's the point?" she said bitterly, trying to delay the inevitable. "You won't believe me."

"Try us," DI Tyler suggested, his hazel eyes steady on her face, silently urging her to trust him. "You might be surprised."

* * *

**_Another Author's Note: Wow, it's a lot harder than I thought to write Gene and Sam, especially for an Aussie girl_**...**_hopefully I did OK. Any feedback would be much appreciated! XXX_**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note: Thanks so much for your reviews on the last chapter - Jiwa, xxTeam-Masterxx, Romana-II, 3LW00D, SawManiac211, Aietradaea, Catelly, Catelly, CJaMes12 and mericat. I have to admit, all your lovely comment have made me feel very guilty about neglecting this story for so long. So here's another update! Again, I hope I have got the voices of the characters OK ** chews nails nervously **_**

**_Thanks for reading!  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Detective Inspector Sam Tyler studied the red-headed girl opposite him intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. He usually prided himself on being an excellent judge of character. Being in the police for so long, it kind of came with the territory. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't work Amy Pond out. On the surface, she seemed an ordinary enough sort of girl – nothing supernatural about _her_. Attractive, with her long auburn hair and willowy figure. Great legs. And a spirited, feisty personality. No shrinking violet, this one – she had taken Gene on without a shred of fear and, God knew, that took some doing. But somehow, Sam could sense that there was more. Amy Pond was _odd_. All that stuff about him looking like the Prime Minister of Britain. It had sounded like absolute rubbish, the raving of a lunatic, especially accompanied by that weird, compulsive tapping on the table. But the girl's eyes had shown no sign of madness. They had been clear, absolutely lucid – and they had been lit with definite recognition. As strange as her words had been, Amy Pond had believed everything she was saying.

But that wasn't all. There was something else, something he was missing...his keen, analytical brain had observed something significantly out of place about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. The thought hovered persistently just out of reach, just waiting for him to grab hold of it, but refusing to make itself clear.

"Come on, Amy, help us out here," he urged, trying to keep the mounting frustration out of his voice. "We need to stop these killings and you're the only one who can help us."

She met his gaze steadily, as if she was trying to work him out, in the same way as he was trying to analyse her. She had a wary, hunted look in her eyes that Sam recognised. He had seen it looking back at him from his own shaving mirror every morning when he had first been transported back to 1973.

_She's been burnt before_, he thought to himself. _Somewhere along the line, she's told someone something important...something out of the ordinary...and they haven't believed her._

"Amy, you can trust me, I promise," he added. "Whatever it is you need to tell us, we'll listen."

Beside him, he could hear Gene shifting impatiently in his seat, but to Sam's immense relief, fortunately – for once – his DCI managed to keep his big mouth shut.

The girl sighed deeply and then said, "I was in the wasteland just beyond the terraces, over where they're planning to put in that big highway. I was...waiting...for a friend. And the little boy ran up to me and told me that he thought his brother was in trouble. He begged me to help him, so I went with him to see what I could do."

"_What _little boy?" Gene asked, leaning forward.

"Andy," Amy replied. "He said his name was Andy." Then she focused on Gene with a frown. "But surely you know that. He was waiting for me outside the cottage. Isn't he the one who called you?"

"Never saw any little boy named Andy, love," Gene said with a shrug. "Some old duck walking her dog called it in...a concerned citizen. Heard screaming, she reckoned, fit to raise the dead."

"You have to find him!" Amy exclaimed worriedly. "Please! He must be scared stiff!"

"All right...it's all right," Sam soothed, not wanting her to lose her confiding mood. "We'll get Detective Constable Skelton to have a look for him when he gets back from the cottage, OK?"

A suspicious look tightened Amy's features. "So...if you didn't speak to Andy...how did you know Tom's name?"

"Super-Detective there found a bus pass in his pocket," Gene said in a dry tone, indicating Sam with a quirk of his thumb.

"What happened when you went inside the house, Amy?" Sam continued, with a warning glance at Gene, determined not to allow the interview to get off track. "What did you see?"

"I left Andy at the gate and I went inside. I checked downstairs, but there was nothing. So I went upstairs. And I found Tom. I knew he was dead, his neck was all twisted."

She paused, wrapping her arms around herself, revulsion at the memory written across her face.

"And then what happened?" Gene demanded. "Come on, Amy, don't stop there!"

His only answer was a blank look. They were losing her, Sam realised. Gene's harsh tone had made her change her mind about telling them the truth, he could see it in her eyes.

"Amy, something made you scream," he cut in quickly. "Something made you so scared that you hid in the cupboard. What was it?"

As he spoke, something seemed to sift from her left eye. It wasn't a tear. In fact, it wasn't liquid of any sort. It almost seemed to be a fine, soft powder.

"Are you all right?" he asked, a cold feeling suddenly settling in his stomach. "Amy? What's that on your face?"

Amy's hand flew to her cheek, smearing the strange dust on to her fingers and staring at it, her expression one of utter horror.

At that moment, the door into the corridor banged open, making them all jump. There was a peculiar scuffling sound, accompanied by some laboured grunting and swearing. Before long, Ray Carling's broad back hove into view, bent over as he reversed towards them, apparently carrying something heavy. He was followed by Chris Skelton, who also staggered into the room, manfully holding up the other end of the item they were transporting. Whatever the thing was, it was long and narrow and carelessly wrapped in a piece of green canvas.

"What in the name of my saggy left testicle do you two brain donors think you're up to?" Gene exploded angrily. "We're _trying_ to conduct an interview here, if you hadn't noticed!"

"Sorry, Gov," Chris spoke up nervously. "We found this at the house. Ray thought it might be valuable, so we brought it here for safekeeping."

Gene rolled his eyes and snapped, "Well, don't just stand there. Put it down over here and then sod off."

Obediently, Ray and Chris shuffled across to an empty spot near the dusty shelving and carefully lowered their burden to the floor, with audible sighs of relief.

"What the hell is it, anyway?" Gene asked, curiosity overcoming him as he eyed the long, thin shape. "Not another body?"

Ray gave him a conspiratorial grin, pulling back the canvas to display their prize. "Nah. I reckon she'd make a good bird for Chris, actually. Can't answer back, can't run away and can't see how ugly he is."

Looking down, Sam saw that it was a stone angel, like the ones you found in a cemetery or in one of those fancy formal gardens. It was lying on its back, its hands firmly over its face, its wings half spread out behind it.

"Yeah, very funny," Chris retorted, as Gene gave a guffaw of laughter at Ray's comment. Sam couldn't help feeling a burst of sympathy for the young detective constable. Everyone in the station knew that Chris wasn't particularly good with the ladies.

All of a sudden, before anyone else could speak, there was a sharp clatter. Whirling around, Sam realised that Amy had leapt to her feet, knocking her chair to the ground. She was cowering back against the wall, her eyes wide and fixed on the recumbent statue, as if she was too terrified even to blink.

"Get away from it!" she yelled. "And for God's sake, don't take your eyes off it!"

All four men stared at her in bewilderment, all joking around suddenly forgotten at the fear in her voice. Even Gene seemed taken back at her obvious panic.

"Something the matter, love?" he asked with a frown.

"You wanted to know what killed Tom?" she hissed. "Well, Detective Chief Inspector, you're looking at it!"

Astonished, Sam glanced back at the angel on the ground. "What? Are you talking about the _statue_?"

"You don't understand! It's not a statue, it's a _creature_!" she cried. "An alien known as a Weeping Angel! As long as you're looking at it, you're safe, because they turn into stone when you're watching them. But as soon as you look away, they come to life. And then they come after you!"

Ray and Chris both coughed loudly, unsuccessfully stifling their incredulous laughter. Sam looked helplessly at Gene, his brow furrowed in confusion. Had he been wrong about Amy? Was their only witness completely insane after all? Surely that was the only explanation for such a totally bizarre story.

Gene nodded, his mouth tight with anger. "Right!" he agreed sarcastically. "This statue is our serial killer. Of course it bloody is, why didn't you pillocks pick up on that? What kind of detectives are you? Ray, slap some cuffs on it."

Amy ignored him, gazing imploringly at Sam instead, as if hoping for some support. "You have to believe me, Detective Inspector Tyler. Please!"

"If the angel is the killer, why are Chris and Ray still alive?" Sam asked, endeavouring to keep his voice reasonable, trying to keep her calm. "Surely if what you are saying is true, it should have killed them by now?"

Gene snorted derisively. "Yeah, I know I would 'ave!" he commented with grim humour.

"It's dormant right now," Amy answered desperately. "Don't you see? It _allowed_ itself to be brought here. It _wanted_ to come, here amongst all these people. And if it gets loose in this station, it will kill everyone in it!"

Gene jumped to his feet in one explosive movement, slamming his fist down on the table with an enormous thump. "That's it!" he roared. "I've had the arse-end of enough! I'm nicking you for wasting police time! This is _my _city and I've got a serial killer on the loose. I don't have time to waste on some mouthy Scottish bint with mulch for brains!"

Amy didn't back down. Without taking her eyes off the angel, she surged forward and screamed into his face, "I'm telling you the truth, you idiot! _You have to believe me!_"

But Gene turned away and strode furiously to the door. Sam heard him rip it violently open and shout, "Cells!"

He was promptly followed back into the room by a uniformed officer.

"Bang 'er up," Gene ordered tersely. "Maybe she'll see things differently after a night in the cells."

The uniformed officer grabbed Amy and began to pull her towards the door.

"DI Tyler! You said I could trust you!" she cried, frantically resisting by digging her heels into the floor. "You promised! Please! If you don't listen, that thing is going to kill us all!"

Sam had no idea what to say. So, instead, he silently watched her being dragged away, still shouting his name, until the door closed behind her.

Gene shook his head in resignation. "Why are all the good-looking ones always as nutty as squirrel shit?" he asked mournfully.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: OK, I wasn't going to do this, I really wasn't. I should be writing some of my other fics. But I could hear the conversation in my head and I had to write it down before I forgot it. So, here it is, another speedy update._**

**_ Big thanks to the following people for reviewing: Romana-II, CJaMes12, Catelly, KlinicallyInsaneKoschei, xxTeam-Masterxx, Jiwa, 3LWOOD, mericat and Aietradaea._  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

"What if she's not?" Sam said, the uneasiness in the back of his mind forcing him to speak, even though he knew what he was suggesting made no sense at all.

"What if she's not _what_?" Gene asked, clearly not understanding the question.

"What if she's _not_ as nutty as squirrel shit?"

Gene stared at him incredulously. "Tyler, she thinks you're the bloody Prime Minister of Britain. And that you assassinated the President of the United States. Not to mention the fact that she seriously believes a stone angel is prancing around Manchester killing people. It doesn't take a University degree in Applied Bollocks to see that she's not playing with a full deck!"

Both Ray and Chris burst out into loud laughter at this. Sam had to admit, when it was put into words, the whole thing did sound absolutely ludicrous. But somehow, he still didn't feel like laughing.

"She's as bad as that black Cockney geezer the uniforms nicked for drunk and disorderly down the shopping centre a couple of years back," Ray spluttered. "Remember him, Guv? He kept raving on about stone angels too."

Gene gave a snort of amusement. "Oh yeah, I remember him. Bloke was a right nutter."

"What bloke?" Sam asked, raising his voice to be heard over the laughter of the other two. "Who are you talking about?"

"Before your time," Gene replied. "Billy, his name was. Billy...?"

"Shipton," Chris spoke up, tears of merriment at the memory rolling down his face.

"Yeah, that's it," Gene agreed. "Billy Shipton. The uniform boys found him wandering up and down the High Street, ripped to the tits. Kept going on about being a copper in London in the future...2007, wasn't it, Raymundo? Until this moving angel statue touched him and he got sent back in time. He gave Ray a full statement about it. Never even realised Ray was only taking the piss."

"Talk about a laugh!" Ray sniggered. "I even wrote the whole thing down!"

Sam felt a sick feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. Except for the mention of the stone angel, the story could have been his own. Struck by a car, touched by a stone angel, there wasn't much difference...for some inexplicable reason, he and this Billy Shipton had both been snatched from their own time and dumped back here. His heart clenched in empathy for the unknown man, cast adrift in a sea of strangers, trying to cope by drinking too much, then reaching out for help, only to encounter the sting of Ray Carling's neanderthal mockery.

"Yeah, making fun of a drunk, mentally-disturbed man," he said coldly. "Good for you, Ray."

Ray's eyes flashed with pure hatred. Sam wasn't surprised. Ray had resented him ever since he had set foot in the station, unwittingly taking the position of Detective Inspector which Ray considered to be rightfully his. They had been at loggerheads ever since, with Ray only just barely managing to maintain a thin facade of respect towards his superior officer.

"What would you have done, Boss?" he sneered now. "Given him tea and sympathy, I suppose?"

Sam ignored his comment altogether. "What happened to him?" he demanded. "When you'd finished getting your jollies?"

"We let him go, Boss," Chris interposed, as always trying to keep the peace between his fiery colleague and his DI. "After he'd slept it off a bit, like. S'pose he went back to London, where he came from."

"What does it matter, Tyler? He was a headcase and we're well shot of him," Gene said dismissively. "We've got more important fish to fry. Now go home, all of you, and get some kip. There's nothing more we can do tonight and tomorrow's going to be a big day. Whoever this killer is, I'm going to find him, and then he's going to be very sorry he was ever born."

Ray and Chris both mumbled something unintelligible and made a beeline for the door before the DCI changed his mind and found some more jobs for them to do, with Ray managing to throw one last hate-filled glance over his shoulder at Sam before he disappeared into the corridor.

"You too, Dorothy," Gene said briskly. "Or haven't you got a home to go to with Cartwright away? Missing the old slap and tickle, are we?"

"I'll stay on for a bit," Sam answered absently, his mind still on the puzzle of Amy Pond and Billy Shipton. "I've got some reports to finish up."

Gene shrugged and walked towards the door. "Suit yourself."

"What about you, Guv?"

"I'm supposed to be taking the missus to the ballet tonight. Bunch of wankers poncing around the stage in tights and frilly dresses, enough to give a man a bleedin' ulcer," Gene grumbled. "I'd rather support Man United for an entire season than go anywhere near it. So I'm going to hide out in the office until I know she's left and can't catch me. Then I'm going to nick down to the pub to get well and truly bladdered."

Sam couldn't help giving a wry grin as he followed his boss out of the room. "Sounds like a plan," he said diplomatically, wondering not for the first time how Gene's wife had managed to put up with him all these years.

Outside, the thunder rolled and cracked across the sky, not so loud now, as the storm retreated across the horizon. Nobody was left to notice the faint movement of the green canvas on the floor, as if a slight breeze was disturbing it. Or, perhaps, as if something was stirring inside...

* * *

Amy huddled on the uncomfortable, narrow bed in her cell, trying to make herself breathe deeply in an effort to keep calm. The two-tone walls – the bottom half forest green and the top half dirty beige – seemed to be closing in on her. The air was laden with a disgusting smell of stale vomit and disinfectant.

What had she been thinking? God, when would she ever learn? Hadn't twelve years of waiting for the Doctor taught her _anything_? No-one ever believed you when you tried to tell them there was more out there, more than their own narrow little human minds could ever comprehend. Years of visits to the hospital, the specialist clinics, the endless child counsellors, the four different psychiatrists. All the cognitive therapies, all the multi-coloured medication. All the worried looks from her Aunt, all the mockery from her classmates at school, until finally, _finally_, she had learned to shut her mouth and not to speak of the Doctor. Until she had allowed them to convince her that she had made it all up, that she was wrong, that the Doctor had never existed except inside her own head.

But she had not been wrong then and she was not wrong now. She looked down at the dust smeared across her fingers - dust that had fallen from her own eye - and shuddered. The Angel that had briefly taken over the visual centres of her mind back on _The Byzantium _had been destroyed, just as the Doctor had promised. But, judging by what had happened today, it seemed that there was just enough of it left to react whenever another Angel was nearby.

_Great, _she thought glumly. _My eye has become some sort of Angel early warning detector system!_

It wasn't going to help her much, trapped here in this cell. She was a sitting duck, if the Angel decided to come for her. And she had a very bad feeling that she was going to be high on the list of the creature's potential victims. The Doctor had explained to her long ago that by travelling in the TARDIS, her body was absorbing certain levels of temporal energy from the Time Vortex. She remembered asking him if there was likely to be any negative side effects, a question he had carelessly brushed aside in his usual irritating manner. But she knew from her experiences on _The Byzantium _that there was nothing the Angels liked to consume more than temporal energy. As far as negative side-effects went, becoming a meal for a Weeping Angel did seem to be a fairly big one.

Restlessly, her mind went back to Detective Inspector Sam Tyler. He had seemed different to all the others. Something about his eyes, something less closed in, something less resistant. For a moment, just one little moment, she had thought he understood, that he might actually listen and believe her. She sighed, cradling her aching head on her hunched up knees. Fat chance of that. He thought she was crazy too, just like everyone else.

Overhead, the yellow fluorescent light hummed and flickered. _Off. On. Off. On. _As though the power was fluctuating. Amy looked up in fear, knowing that this was no ordinary power drain.

The Angel was on the move.

And when the darkness finally came...they were all dead.

* * *

Sam waited until Gene was settled comfortably in his office, immersed in his Playboy magazine, before slipping surreptitiously next door into the Collator's Office. Nobody was there at this time of night. Hurriedly, he made his way towards the huge banks of filing cabinets, heading for the drawers dedicated to cases starting with the letter "S". It had taken him a long time to get used to the haphazard filing system utilised back in the Seventies, but he had finally gotten the hang of it out of pure necessity. He still missed computers though. What wouldn't he give to be able to tap Billy Shipton's name into a search engine right now?

Fortunately, he located Shipton's file almost immediately, something which was never guaranteed in this place. The beige manila folder had been well-thumbed. Sam couldn't help cynically wondering how often Ray had pulled it out just for a giggle.

Just then, the lights fizzed and flashed off and then on again. Sam looked up at them in annoyance. Not more bloody power cuts. It had been bad enough last year, during the energy crisis, when they were having them every five minutes. Surely they weren't starting that rubbish all over again!

Taking the file with him, he retreated back to the main office and spread the contents out on his desk. There wasn't much in there, just the basic arrest paperwork taken at the front desk when they brought Shipton in and an A4 size statement sheet covered with Ray's messy, loopy handwriting.

A loud snore echoed from Gene's office. Turning around, Sam peered in through the door and saw his boss reclining in his chair, his feet up on his desk, with the Playboy magazine over his face, obviously fast asleep.

With a small grin of amusement, Sam returned his attention to the statement sheet in his hand. As he read, the grin slipped away, to be replaced by a frown. He had to admit, Ray was right. It certainly was some story. According to his statement, Billy Shipton had been stationed in London around 2005, when he began investigating the disappearance of multiple individuals near an abandoned estate called Wester Drumlins. Eventually, anyone who reported someone missing in the vicinity was automatically referred to Shipton. During Shipton's investigations, numerous vehicles were impounded, their occupants missing. In the end, the collection had grown so large it had been humorously dubbed the "Wester Drumlins Collection". In 2007, Shipton's investigations led him into contact with a woman named Sally Sparrow, who was herself investigating the disappearance of her friend Kathy Nightingale from Wester Drumlins. Sally and Billy had apparently hit it off immediately, with Shipton convincing her to give him her telephone number, after showing her the "Wester Drumlins Collection." But moments after she had left, he had noticed some weird stone angels grouped around one of the pieces in the "Collection", a 1960s-era Police Box. He had gone over to have a look, blinked, felt the touch of a cold, stone hand on the back of his neck and had woken up in 1969. He had been greeted by a strange man called the Doctor and his companion, Martha Jones, who had explained that the Weeping Angels had sent him back in time in order to consume the potential energy of all the days he might have had in the future.

Sam sat back in his chair, running his hands over his face, trying to get his mind around what he had just read. If Shipton had not been mad...if he had been telling the truth...if there really were psychopathic killers out there disguised as stone Angels... No, it wasn't possible...was it?

But then again, Sam's own story should not have been possible either. Written down like this, it would have sounded just as bizarre, just as insane. And now there was not only Billy Shipton, but also Amy Pond, telling almost exactly the same tale. Could it possibly be a coincidence?

Suddenly, like a blast of the lightning still flickering outside, it came to him. The thing that had been bothering him all along, scratching insistently at the back of his mind. _Amy Pond's shoes_. They were Converse All-Star high-tops – a style of shoe he knew quite well were not available in 1974.

_A style of shoe that did not come into fashion until the twenty-first century._

"Shit!" he exclaimed loudly, throwing the Shipton file back on to his desk and jumping to his feet. "SHIT!"

And then he was racing for the stairs, heading down to the cells as fast as he could.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's Note: Hi there! Thank you very much to the following people for reviewing the last chapter - Aietradaea, Romana-II, Jiwa, Bad Dog No Biscuit, 3LW00D, Catelly, SawManiac211, CJaMes12, xxTeam-Masterxx and mericat._**

**_This chapter is dedicated to xxTeam-Masterxx for two reasons: - firstly, for being my 50th reviewer (thankyou) and secondly just for being awesome! XXXX  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Everything was still and silent. Too still. Too silent.

WPC Phyllis Dobbs shifted uneasily in her chair and looked up from the torrid romance novel she was reading. She never liked working nights. During the day, the front desk area was always a hive of activity, with people coming and going, prisoners shouting the odds, officers swearing, cell doors slamming, paperwork everywhere. But at night, after everyone had gone home, the place took on a different aspect, gloomy and depressing, almost eerie. They didn't call it the "graveyard shift" for nothing.

Phyllis was well known for her brisk, no-nonsense attitude. Despite the fact that the force was still a bit of a boy's club, she had earned the grudging respect of her male colleagues by refusing to take any rubbish or disrespect from anyone, no matter what their rank.

And she didn't scare easily.

Which was fortunate, she reflected now. Because that had been one hell of a storm out there earlier and it had made the night-shrouded station seem even creepier than ever. Soon she would start thinking she saw the shadows moving.

There weren't even any prisoners to keep her busy. Only one cell was occupied - number two, with that red-headed girl CID had brought in. She had banged on her cell door and shouted and screamed a bit at first, some load of old flannel about an evil angel coming to kill them all. Phyllis had resolutely ignored her, until finally she had shut up. The girl wasn't the first religious nutter to be confined in these cells and she was unlikely to be the last. But at least when she had been yelling it hadn't been so damn _quiet_!

Phyllis allowed her mind to drift, wondering idly what her waste-of-space husband was doing right now. Probably out on the razzle, wasting her hard-earned dosh again. Or fast asleep in front of the telly. She gave a disparaging sniff, her eyes wandering wistfully back to the front of her novel, admiring the well-developed pectoral muscles on the handsome, half-naked man on the cover. Huh, she should be so lucky!

Just then, she heard a clatter on the stairs and the door was wrenched roughly open. To her surprise, Sam Tyler erupted into the room, breathing heavily as though he had been running.

"Everything all right, Boss?" she asked curiously. "You look all hot and bothered."

"I need to see Amy Pond, right now," he replied in a curt voice.

Phyllis stared at him. She had worked with Sam Tyler for well over a year now, but she still didn't really understand him. Oh, he was a good copper, with an impressive track record of arrests behind him. And he was definitely easy on the eye, there was no doubt about that. But he was strange, nothing like the other blokes in the department. His manners, the way he dealt with people, the procedures he followed...and some of the peculiar things he _said_, sometimes she just couldn't make head nor tail of him. He was normally so cool and collected - she couldn't remember ever seeing him in such an agitated state before.

"You know the rules better than that, Boss," she said. "Ever since Billy Kemble died in his cell, no-one's allowed to see prisoners on their own. And I'm not allowed to leave the desk."

Tyler ran his hands through his hair, frustration written across his face. "Phyllis, this is an _emergency_!" he snapped. "It could be a matter of life or death!"

"That's what they all say," she told him, pointedly returning to her book. "I'm surprised at you, Sir, and you usually such a stickler for the rules."

"Phyllis, _please_!"

Hearing the distinct note of desperation in his voice, her eyes flicked back up to him in concern. Whatever was on his mind, it had to be big, to get him this upset. She hesitated for a moment. Usually she adhered to the custody regulations with a will of iron, otherwise cowboys like Gene Hunt and Ray Carling would walk all over her, causing chaos wherever they went. But Sam had never once asked her to bend the rules for him before. She sighed deeply. She was probably going to regret this, she could feel it in her waters.

"Go on then," she said disapprovingly, determined not to let him think she had developed a soft spot for him. "But you take this radio with you, just to be safe." With that she handed over the keys, together with a hand-held radio. "If anything goes wrong, you call me, all right?"

"Fine," Sam answered. "No problem. Thanks, Phyllis, you're a pearl."

"Pearl or not, you owe me a drink next time we're down the pub," she retorted.

But he had already unlocked the big, reinforced door leading to the cells and had disappeared down the corridor. Phyllis shook her head in exasperation and went back to her book.

* * *

Sam shoved the radio handset into the pocket of his leather jacket and promptly forgot about both it and Phyllis as he hastened towards Amy's cell. An inexplicable sense of urgency seemed to weigh on him, a strange feeling that time was running out.

All the doors in the cells area were open except one. Acting out of habit, he flipped open the inspection hatch in the closed door. Inside, he could see the slender, red-headed girl curled on the bed, huddled into a corner as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Without pausing further, he unlocked the door and hurried inside.

Amy's head shot up, fear in her eyes. But then she recognised him. "DI Tyler!"

"Sam," he answered. "Call me Sam."

She watched him warily as he moved into the room. "All right then...Sam...what are you doing here?"

For a moment, Sam didn't know what to say. He had spent so long guarding every word that came out of his mouth, obsessively making sure he didn't slip up, forever careful to ensure that nobody thought he had lost his marbles. Until now, only Annie had known his secret, the only one he had ever trusted enough. And now he was about to blurt it all out to a complete stranger. But if Amy Pond was to open up to him, he knew he had no choice.

"You're not from this time, are you, Amy?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're from the future."

At first, she didn't reply. For a few horrible seconds, Sam wondered if somehow he had got it all wrong, if she was going to laugh in his face just as Ray and Chris and Gene had laughed in hers. But then she said simply, "How did you know?"

He sat down heavily on the bed beside her, his legs feeling like they were about to give out from under him in relief. "Your shoes. Converse All-Stars. Not something you can easily get hold of in 1974."

Amy's eyes widened. "But the only way you could know that is..."

"If I came from the future too?" he finished. "I do. 2006, actually."

"But how...?" she gasped. "Were you touched by an Angel? Is that how you got back here?"

"Not unless one was driving the car that hit me," he said wryly. "I was in a hit-and-run car accident in 2006 and I woke up here. I had no idea whether I was mad, or in a coma or if I'd actually travelled in time."

"I _knew_ you were different to the others," she exclaimed in a triumphant tone. "I could see it in your eyes. The Doctor always says time travel changes people, makes them different in ways they don't even understand."

Sam's senses went on red alert as he recognised the familiar name from Billy Shipton's statement. "The Doctor?"

"My friend," she said, her face falling again. "He's the one I was waiting for in the wasteland. He's not from Earth. I travel with him, through time and space, in a blue police box. It's called a TARDIS and it's bigger on the inside than on the outside."

Sam's first logical instinct was to reject this statement out of hand as pure madness. But everything they were discussing was completely impossible. If he believed one thing, then surely he had to believe the rest. If he could get struck by a car and sent back to 1973, then why couldn't Amy Pond travel around the Universe with an alien in a blue police box? And hadn't there also been a mention in Shipton's statement of a blue police box in the "Wester Drumlins Collection"? The coincidence was far too great for Sam's detective brain to ignore.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Billy Shipton?" he asked intently.

Amy shook her head. "No. Should I? Who is he?"

"Someone my colleagues interviewed a couple of years ago. He said he was a detective stationed in London in 2007, when he was touched by a stone angel and sent back in time to 1969. He also said he met up with a man named the Doctor and his companion, Martha Jones, who told him the angels were creatures of the abstract, feeding on the lost potential of their victims."

"I've never heard of any Billy Shipton. But Martha Jones travelled with the Doctor before I did – it must have happened during her time with him," Amy said excitedly. "So, do you believe me now, Sam? About the Weeping Angel?"

"I'm working on it," he admitted reluctantly. "But why didn't it kill Shipton, like it killed Tom Reynolds? Why just send him back in time?"

"They don't _need_ to kill to feed," Amy explained. "They can consume a person's lost potential in the future by sending them back in time, effectively allowing them to live to death, rather than killing them outright, if you know what I mean. But some of the Angels have found that they _enjoy_ killing. It gives them pleasure."

"And you're telling me we've got one of the psychopathic variety on our patch, right?"

As he spoke, the lights crackled loudly and blinked lazily off and then on again. Amy gave a small cry of horror and stiffened, freezing like a deer in head-lights.

"It's OK," Sam told her soothingly. "It's just a power cut, associated with the energy crisis they've got going on right now. We had them a lot last year. Saved my life once, actually."

"You don't understand, it's not just a power cut!" Amy shot back, her voice high-pitched with incipient panic. "It's the Angel, it's coming for us! It's draining all the electricity to shut down the lights!"

Sam found himself wearing the same blank look of incomprehension that he saw so often on Annie's face when she looked at him. "What?"

"I _told_ you, you're safe as long as you can see them. As long as someone is looking at them, they remain quantum-locked, like an ordinary stone statue, and they can't move. But if you look away, even if you _blink _while they're hunting you...oh God, Sam, they're so quick! Once it has us in darkness, we won't stand a chance!"

This time, Sam didn't even stop to think. He realised his heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest, like a big bass drum. Somehow, against all the odds, Amy had managed to convince him. As crazy as it seemed, somewhere in the last half an hour, without even being sure how it had happened, he had come to believe that there was an alien killer, shaped like a stone angel, loose in the station.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," he said tersely, yanking her to her feet and pulling her towards the door of the cell.

But Amy's hand had already flown to her eye, rubbing at it in a broken, jerky motion, as though she couldn't help herself. Trembling, she extended her fingers towards Sam and he saw they were covered in fine, grey dust.

"It's too late," she choked out. "It's already here."

Overhead, the lights hummed and flashed off again, leaving them in inky darkness for one, long, endless moment, before slowly flickering back to life.

An awful, long, drawn out scream of pain and terror echoed along the corridor, something Sam knew he would never forget, as long as he lived.

"Phyllis!" he yelled. Scrabbling in his pocket, he pulled out the radio she had given him such a short time ago. "Phyllis!" he called again, speaking frantically into the handset. "Phyllis, come in! Answer me, damn it!"

A wave of static answered him, roaring emptily in his ear. But then another voice spoke, resounding clearly through the radio. It was young, male and faultlessly polite.

"Hello, Detective Inspector Tyler. I'm very sorry, Sir, but WPC Dobbs can't speak to you right now."

"Why not?" Sam demanded.

"I'm afraid she's dead, Sir," the voice responded expressionlessly.

A chill crawled up Sam's spine, disbelief roiling like sickness in his stomach as he managed to whisper into the hand-set, "Who the hell are you?"

"My name's Bob, Sir," came the flat answer, amid another storm of static. "Angel Bob."


	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's Note: Hello again! Thanks so much to the following people for their reviews on the previous chapter - Jiwa, Catelly, Romana-II, Heartwing, CJaMes12, KlinicallyInsaneKoschei, SawManiac211, Aietradaea, xxTeam-Masterxx and mericat._**

**_I've done a bit of cover-art for this story - there's a link on my profile, so if you have time, check it out :)  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Sam stared at Amy, the radio dangling loosely from his hand. His mind was blank with horror and grief at Phyllis' brutal death.

"Bob?" he whispered hoarsely, grasping on to the only thing his reeling thoughts seemed to be able to register. "The psychopathic alien killer angel is called _Bob_?"

Amy looked like she was about to be sick, her face shocked and as pale as paper. "What exactly were you expecting?" she shot back.

"How should I know?" he hissed. "Lucifer, Beelzebub, Darth Vader the Dark Lord of the Sith...take your pick! But not _Bob_!"

"The Angels have no voice. The last time I met up with them, they killed a man named Bob...a good man, not much more than a boy. One of them stripped his cerebral cortex from his body and re-animated his consciousness to communicate with the Doctor. I'm guessing this must be the same Angel. But what I don't understand is_ how_."

Reaching out, she took the radio from Sam's slackened hold.

"Angel Bob? This is Amy Pond."

"Hello, Miss Pond," the voice responded politely. "It's very nice to talk to you again."

"Never mind that!" she snapped. "I want to know how you managed to get here. I _saw_ you fall into that crack. The Doctor said you were erased from Time."

A loud, horrible screeching sound echoed over the radio, blasting through the hand-set like a banshee wailing.

"What the hell is that?" Sam shuddered, putting his hands over his ears to block out the spine-chilling noise.

"It's laughing," Amy said flatly. She turned back to the radio. "What's so funny, Angel Bob?"

"My apologies, Miss Pond," the Angel replied. "But it amuses me. The Doctor in the TARDIS knows many things, yet not as much as he thinks. He still doesn't realise."

"What doesn't he realise?" Amy persisted, her tone taut with urgency. "What are you talking about?"

"Within the crack were thousands of other cracks, reality itself splintering over and over again, into a myriad of different places and possibilities, like countless reflections of a reflection," the creature answered. "The Angels saw all things as we fell. Through some of the cracks we saw oblivion and the peace of non-existence...through others, we saw other worlds, filled with other people...and through yet more we saw only Silence and the end of all things. Many of my brethren chose oblivion rather than face the terrible approach of the Silence. But I chose to fall through the crack leading to this world."

Amy frowned in bewilderment. "The Silence? What is the Silence?"

There was no reply, just more waves of static hissing and crackling from the hand-set. Amy and Sam exchanged a tense glance.

"Angel Bob?" she repeated fiercely. "Angel Bob, are you still there? _ What is the Silence?_"

After another long pause, the Angel said at last, "I'm very sorry, Miss Pond, but there are no words to explain the Silence in your language."

"Then tell me why you came here! Why did you choose this place?"

"For fun, of course, Miss," the monster stated calmly, its voice emotionless and completely devoid of compassion. "The Pandorica will open and Silence must fall. But until then, there are still many humans left to kill."

Amy closed her eyes and leaned her forehead wearily against the plastic handset. "I don't get any of this," she muttered to herself. "We need the Doctor. We really, _really_ need the Doctor."

The radio crackled into life again. "Detective Inspector Tyler, are you there?"

The hairs rose on the back of Sam's neck at the sound of his name. Forcing himself to move, he took the handset. He had understood very little about the conversation he had just heard, but Amy's distress at the Angel's words was more than obvious. A trickle of sick anticipation rippled through his body.

"I'm here," he said tightly.

"Excuse me, Sir. I just wanted to let you know that WPC Dobbs died in a great deal of pain and fear."

Pain seemed to lance through Sam's head, the cruelty of the words stabbing through him like a knife. "_What?_"

"Sorry, Sir, but I thought it was important to tell you," the Angel continued with mock courtesy. "At the end, she tried to call to you for help. I think she died knowing you failed her, Sir."

"Listen, you psychopathic son-of-a-bitch..." Sam began, a painful vision of Phyllis flashing before his eyes, the red rage rising hotly in his veins at the uncaring sound of the Angel's voice.

"Don't give it the satisfaction!" Amy cut in, seizing him by the arms and forcing him to look into her eyes. "It's trying to hurt you, Sam. It wants to make you angry. It's what they do. It's how they get their kicks."

Staring into her anxious face, Sam took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm, trying to clear his mind and remember some of the negotiating techniques he had learned on his counter-terrorism courses back in 2006. Even though he knew he was dealing with something inhuman, something absolutely beyond his experience, it was still instinctive to his rational nature to fall back on his training.

"What exactly do you want, Angel Bob? There must be something we can do to work this out."

"With all due respect, Detective Inspector Tyler, there's nothing you can do. You and Miss Pond are going to die. Sorry about that, Sir," the creature replied. "The power drain is almost complete. I'll be coming for you soon. Goodbye, Sir."

With that, the radio clicked off with an air of finality.

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed furiously, kicking viciously at the wall to relieve his pent-up frustration. Sticking his head out the cell door, he peered up the long corridor leading to the front desk. There was no-one in sight. Overhead, the lights hummed and flickered ominously.

"Why doesn't it just come now?" he demanded, pulling his head back in and glaring at Amy. "It must know we're cornered here like rats in a trap."

"It's giving us time to be afraid." Her eyes were haunted with bitter memory. Even without being told, Sam could tell she was speaking from hard-won experience. "It makes the hunt even sweeter if it can enjoy our fear."

"Yeah? Well, screw that!" he growled, taking her firmly by the hand. While she was in this station, Amy was his responsibility. And he had no intention of allowing either of them to die today. "I'm not going to just meekly sit here and wait for it to kill us. And I don't think we've got time to wait for your Doctor friend to save us either. There's a fire door half way up the corridor between here and the front-desk area. We have to get to it before the lights go. It's our only chance."

To his relief, Amy didn't panic or even argue. Faced with the horror of the unnatural creature stalking them, most of the women he knew would have subsided into hysterics long ago. But it was becoming more and more clear that this was no ordinary woman. From the look in her eyes, Sam suspected that she had experienced things most human women only had nightmares about. Feeling the warmth of her hand in his own, he wondered fleetingly what his Annie would think of Amy Pond. Then he turned back towards the door.

"Ready?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Ready," she replied, her body tensed in instant readiness, with the practised ease of someone accustomed to running.

"GO!" he yelled.

With that, they burst out into the corridor together, running as fast as they could towards the fire door. Almost immediately, the lights faded out and then surged back on again. Ahead of them, framed in the doorway leading to the front desk area, a tall, winged figure had materialised. The macabre sight struck Sam like a fist in the stomach. The Angel had changed beyond recognition from when he had seen it earlier in the Lost Property Room. It was like something out of a gothic horror movie. No longer beautiful or graceful, it now radiated a twisted evil that was almost palpable. It had pulled its hands away from its face, revealing predatory stone eyes and a savage, gaping maw filled with razor-sharp fangs. Its arms were extended towards them, its fingers curled into clawed, grasping talons.

"Don't stop!" Amy shrieked, sensing his shocked hesitation and pulling him frantically by the hand. "And don't blink, Sam! Whatever you do, don't blink!"

It took all of Sam's willpower to continue sprinting directly towards the menacing creature. Every primal instinct he owned screamed at him to turn his back and run in the opposite direction. But he knew enough now to realise that maintaining visual contact with the Angel was the only thing keeping them alive. Concentrating on keeping his eyes wide, he kept on running. Blinking was always something he had taken for granted, something he had never given much thought to – it just happened. He had never realised just how hard it was _not _to blink. With a chill, he realised he could feel his eyeballs drying out, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, needing to close whether he wanted them to or not.

After what seemed like an eternity, still running full tilt, both of them keeping their eyes unwaveringly fixed on the frozen monster before them, they managed to reach the fire door.

"Keep watching it!" Sam rapped out, before spinning around and throwing himself against the metal bar latch on the door. To his relief, he heard it click and he began to shove the heavy door open.

Just then, the lights flashed off again and, behind him, Amy screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Greetings, humans! Big thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter - Bernice-Summerfield, mericat, 3LW00D, Heartwing, Jiwa, xxTeam-Masterxx, SawManiac211, Catelly, Aietradaea, helenwhogirl, Theta'sWorstNightmare, Riley Erin, chickens and egaara.**

**Special thanks to Theta'sWorstNightmare - reading her excellent crossover fic inspired me to get out of my rut and write some more of my own. If you like Dr Who/LoM crossovers, check out her story called, "Take a Look at the Lawman", it's very good!**

**And, since my latest chapter of "The Master's Rose" had a substantial drop in reviews, I think I might take a break from it and stay over here for a while, because you guys are terrific :)  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Keeping her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the Angel, Amy heard Sam heaving the fire door open. But it was too late – much, much too late. The lights flicked off and did not flash on again and she knew they were both dead. Dust streamed from her eye and there was a rush of hot, foetid wind as she felt the Angel approaching on a wave of terror. An involuntary scream tore from her throat, ratcheting higher and higher as it echoed through the choking darkness.

All at once, a brilliant blaze of illumination flooded the narrow corridor. Transfixed in the searing light stood the Angel, its clawed hands just inches from Amy's throat, its vicious, twisted face solidified in an expression of unrelenting cruelty.

Nearby, Amy heard Sam swear incredulously at the horrifying sight. Not daring to take her gaze off the looming Angel, she heard him step closer and saw out of the corner of her eye that he was holding a high-powered torch. It wasn't until she felt his warm arm slide supportively around her waist that she realised just how much she was trembling. That had been just _too_ close.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a tight voice.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her panicked breathing. "Yeah."

"We keep these torches beside every fire door, ever since the black-outs last year," he explained, keeping the beam firmly trained on the Angel, as they backed slowly towards the open fire door together. "Lucky for us, as it turns out."

But even as he spoke, the bright light of the torch began to flicker and fade.

"We have to hurry, Sam," Amy croaked, her throat still dry from fear. "It can drain the power from any artificial light source. The batteries in that torch won't last long."

Still holding the glowing light before him like a weapon, Sam pushed her protectively behind him into the cement stairwell on the other side of the fire door.

"Get ready to run," he ordered.

Then, in one lithe movement, he jumped back through the door himself and slammed it shut, instantly jamming down the bar-lock. Without waiting to see what the Angel would do next, he seized Amy's hand and they sprinted up the stairs to the next landing as fast as they could.

Down below, Amy could hear a regular thumping noise. Remembering the unnatural strength the creatures had displayed when breaking into the reinforced airlocks on board _The Byzantium, _she knew beyond all doubt the Angel was busy forcing its way through the steel fire door.

"That door isn't going to hold it," she gasped. "It's much too strong."

"Through here," Sam replied, wrenching open another fire door and leading the way into the darkness beyond. "RCS. Regional Crime Squad offices. This place is a rabbit warren. We can lose ourselves in here for a bit. Then you're going to tell me everything you know about these things and we're going to come up with a workable plan."

Amy followed him, watching the dimming torchlight bobbing ahead, playing over the empty desks and short, squat filing cabinets as they jogged through a series of silent offices. She had only just met Sam, but already she could tell he was the sort of man who was much more comfortable if he was working to a plan. It was an extreme contrast to the Doctor's haphazard, fly-by-his-pants way of approaching things. Then again, she thought wryly to herself, the Doctor was the Doctor, and there was no-one in the Universe like him. No-one else could ever possibly get away with half the things he did. That was just the way it was. Even more importantly, the Doctor wasn't here and Sam's quick-thinking had just saved both their lives, despite his initial skepticism. She couldn't help admiring the calm, confident way the Detective Inspector had taken charge of a situation that must seem utterly surreal to him.

"The first thing we have to do is to get some sort of reliable light source," Sam continued, obviously thinking out loud. "It's pretty clear we're totally helpless if it manages to get us in the dark." Then he stopped short, causing Amy to nearly cannon into him. "Torches!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Amy scowled, wondering anxiously if maybe Sam didn't have such a great grasp on things after all. "I _told_ you, torches are no good, the Angel will just drain the batteries."

"Not that sort of torch," he said.

Moving quickly, he raced out into the adjoining passageway. Not wanting to be left behind in the dark, Amy made sure she stayed close behind him, even though she had no idea what he was doing.

"If this floor is laid out anything like CID, there should be a cleaning cupboard along here somewhere."

"So?"

Without bothering to answer, he located the door he was looking for and pulled it open, shining the torch inside to reveal a small, narrow room crowded with brooms, mops and buckets. Reaching for one of the mops, he tore the head free and discarded it, before breaking the wooden handle into two halves over his knee. Then he seized some cotton rags from a shelf and threw them over his shoulder towards Amy.

"Here, wrap these around the ends of the handles," he told her briefly, before sticking his head back into the cupboard and beginning to pull out container after container of cleaning fluid, holding the torch high to scan the labels. "Naptha," he muttered abstractedly to himself. "One of these solvents _has_ to contain naptha."

Amy's eyes brightened as she finally realised what he was up to. Naptha, she knew, was another name for paraffin oil. "_Flaming_ torches!" she cried excitedly, hurriedly starting to wind the cleaning rags around the pieces of broken mop handle, just as he had directed. "Oh, that's _brilliant_ – the Angel won't be able to affect a natural light source!"

"That's the idea," he agreed, finally selecting a large container of fluorescent pink industrial cleaning fluid and pouring a substantial quantity into a handy bucket.

"Soak them in here," he instructed. "We want the rags to absorb as much paraffin oil as possible before we have to use them. They'll burn longer then."

Amy did as he said, dipping the cloth-wound heads of the makeshift torches into the bucket.

"What are we going to use to light them with?" she asked.

Sam merely grinned, his brown eyes dancing. "This is 1974, Amy. Show me a desk drawer that _doesn't_ have a cigarette lighter in it and I'll be surprised!"

Sitting back on his heels, he glanced uneasily back up the shadowy passageway, the grin fading from his face as he flicked the torch beam back the way they had come. There was no sign of the Angel.

"Wonder where it is?" he said tensely. "And what it's doing?"

"It's still playing with us, like a cat plays with a mouse," Amy surmised, her eyes also nervously searching the dark. "It gets off on the game."

"Not all that different to a human serial killer then." He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Just so long as it doesn't get the chance to sneak up on us."

Amy shook her head. "It can't do that. I'll know if it's coming."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"It's kind of a long story," she sighed, wondering if he would believe her this time. "The sand starts to fall from my eye when it's nearby. I don't really understand why. Except that once I made the mistake of staring too long at some video footage of our friend Angel Bob. I looked into its eyes. And apparently the image of an Angel eventually somehow becomes an Angel, so it managed to infect the visual centres of my brain."

Sam stared at her, trying to follow her explanation but obviously not knowing what to say. "You had one of those in your _head_?"

"It's gone now. The Doctor managed to erase all the Angels from time, so the one in my head theoretically never actually existed. Only, it seems that there is enough of it left to recognise when an Angel is near and that's when my eye starts to sift sand all over again."

He was silent for a long moment and Amy guessed his logical mind was once again struggling to accept what she had told him. Even with the incontrovertible evidence of Angel Bob's existence, she still half expected him to jeer at her and to call her insane, just as Gene Hunt had earlier that day.

But Sam Tyler was not Gene Hunt. "Wow, travelling with this Doctor bloke must have been pretty tough for you," he said eventually, surprising her with the gentle understanding in his voice. "It sounds like you've been through a lot together. Are you and he...well, you know...a couple or something?"

"No!" she replied quickly, brushing aside the memory of the one time she had tried to kiss the Doctor and he had pushed her away. "Oh no, nothing like that. We're just friends. There's...there's never really been anyone like that for me."

Oddly enough, even as she said it, it felt wrong, as if she was not telling Sam the whole truth. But the Doctor had made it more than clear that there would never be anything romantic between them. And there was no-one else. There had never been anyone else.

She smiled at Sam, trying to summon up some of the flirtatiousness that usually came so naturally to her. "So, how about you, Detective Inspector? Do you have a significant other lurking in the wings?"

"Not exactly lurking, but yes," he smiled back. "Her name's Annie Cartwright. We're engaged. She usually works here – she's a WPC attached to CID. But right now, she's on holiday in the Lake District with her sister."

"Ah ha! The 2006 boy has found a 1970s girl – you _have_ made yourself at home in this time!" Amy teased lightly, trying to ignore a slight twinge of disappointment that the handsome detective was already involved with someone.

A shadow passed over his face. "I found my way back once, you know, to 2006. But it wasn't the same any more. A barman once told me that you know when you're alive, because you can _feel_. And you know when you're not. Because you can't feel anything. And I realised that, in 2006, I couldn't feel anything. So I chose to come back here. Because this is where I belong. With Annie. And Gene. And all the others. This is where I'm truly alive."

Before Amy could reply to this, the radio in Sam's pocket crackled back into life, snapping them both back to the harsh reality of their situation.

"Miss Pond? Excuse me, are you there, Miss Pond?"

Sam whipped the hand-set out and Amy took it from him. "What do you want now, Angel Bob?" she demanded.

"I just thought I'd let you know that I've fused the locks on all the exits leading from this building, Miss Pond," the creature responded calmly. "You and Detective Inspector Tyler are trapped. Oh, and I've disabled all communication devices apart from this one, so there will be no other humans coming to your assistance."

"You're not scaring me, so stop wasting your time!" Amy retorted, refusing to give the Angel any more pleasure by showing her fear.

"Forgive me, but you really should be scared, Miss Pond," it answered politely. "You're trapped and you're going to die. And this time, you don't have the Doctor to save you."

Sam snatched the radio from Amy. "She mightn't have the Doctor, but she still has me!" he snarled.

Again, the awful grating sound of the Angel's laughter echoed through the hand-set. "Of course, Detective Inspector Tyler. But if Miss Pond has you, Sir...then who does Detective Chief Inspector Hunt have?"

The radio clicked off and Sam went deathly pale as he understood exactly what the Angel meant.

"It's going after Gene!"


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Note: Yep, quick update, I know. But I got excited about writing this one, cos I love Gene.  
_**

**_Thanks very much to Bernice-Summerfield, Theta'sWorstNightmare and egaara, who actually reviewed the last chapter, unlike the other 50 odd people who read but didn't bother to comment. I'm so pleased to know that you three as least liked it, since I have no idea what everyone else thought._**

_**Hope you also enjoy this one!**_

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Gene woke with a start. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure where he was. Everything was in darkness. Then he realised that he had a magazine over his face and he was reclining in his office chair with his feet up on his desk. Ah...he remembered now, he was still at the station. With a grunt, he pulled the magazine away and sat up. To his surprise, everything was still dark, even with his eyes unobstructed.

_Bloody blackouts_, he thought irritably, reaching into his pocket for his silver cigarette-lighter. At least the storm seemed to have died down, for now at least. There were no more lightning flashes reflecting through the high, narrow windows and the air was still and quiet.

Flicking the thumb-wheel on his lighter, he watched the small, yellow flame dance into life. He held it above his watch, using the light to check the time. It had gone half eight. The missus would surely have given up waiting for him by now. Probably safe enough to scarper to the Railway Arms for a few quiet ones and a round of darts.

"Tyler!" he yelled.

But there was no answer and he could see no lights out in the main office. Looked like Sammy-boy had pissed off home after all, probably because of the blackout. Gene frowned, annoyed that his DI hadn't seen fit to wake him.

_Nice of him to keep his Guv up to speed about what was going on._

He levered himself out of his chair and stumbled across to his filing cabinets, cursing as he stubbed his toe on his desk in the dark. Pulling open the top drawer of the nearest cabinet, he sorted through several half-empty whiskey bottles, before finding the torch he was searching for and switching it on. The thin white beam flickered and wavered for a moment, but then shone with a reassuring brightness. Stretching lazily, Gene reached for one of the bottles and knocked back a couple of slugs, just to wake himself up properly. Then he ambled across to the door of his office, absent-mindedly scratching at his crotch as he went.

Sure enough, Sam's desk was as deserted as all the others. Although, oddly enough, a file was still spread out on top of it, with papers strewn everywhere. That wasn't like Sam. Usually he was as obsessive about keeping his desk tidy as he was about everything else. It looked like he had left in a big hurry.

Gene stirred a bit uneasily, but he couldn't say why. Tyler had probably just gone to see about getting some more light in here, that was all. Typical Dorothy - he hated being interrupted when he was working on a case.

Suddenly, there was a small shuffling noise in the darkness. Startled, Gene swung his torch around to the far end of the office, where he could dimly make out the silhouette of a shadowy figure, standing in the doorway leading to the passage. The white light from the torch beam was fading a little and he couldn't see very clearly.

"Tyler?" he rapped out. "Is that you?"

There was no reply. Gene's eyes narrowed. The figure was shaped all wrong to be Sam. And Sam would definitely have answered him.

"Who's there?"

Again, no answer. Angry now, Gene marched down the length of the office to confront the intruder. "Oi, sunshine, I'm talkin' to you! Quit playin' silly buggers!"

As he drew closer, he noticed to his astonishment that the motionless figure had wings. He scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly regretting the whiskey he had just consumed, sure he was seeing things. Then it came to him. It was the angel! Chris and Ray's bloody angel statue! Gene could feel his blood pressure start to rise. This was obviously their weak idea of a joke, trying to scare him in the dark. They were probably hiding around here somewhere, gawping at him and pissing themselves laughing.

"Chris! Ray!" he bellowed furiously. "Where are you? You two toss-pots are about as funny as a fart in a phone box!"

He flashed the torch around, fully expecting to see the dynamic duo sheepishly emerging from behind one of the desks as they realised the game was up. But everything remained oppressively still and quiet. An inexplicable shiver worked its way up Gene's spine. Normally, in a situation like this, you could hear Chris giggling like a girl from a mile away. Instead, the silence was almost eerie.

Swinging the beam back on to the Angel, Gene studied it closely. Its head was bowed, with most of its face concealed by its hands. But...was it _smiling_? He tried to think back to the first time he had seen it in the Lost Property Room. He didn't remember it smiling back then. But, of course, it must have been. Stone angel statues didn't just start smiling out of the blue. He needed to get a grip, unless he wanted to end up as a candidate for a padded cell. He was starting to imagine things, just like that crazy little red-headed tart.

His lips twitched in amusement as he recalled the Pond girl's wild delusions. Moving stone angels. And Tyler, the Prime Minister of Britain – now_ that _was a classic. It was going to take his DI a long time to live that one down, if Gene had anything to do with it. That idea was almost as ridiculous as the notion of a woman becoming Prime Minister – and as he always said, that was never going to happen as long as his arse had a hole!

"You can wipe that sodding grin off your face an' all!" he told the Angel sourly.

With that, he turned around, stalking back towards his office to get his coat. He'd had enough of stone angels for one day. He'd give Chris and Ray a proper bollocking tomorrow. Right now, he was overdue at the pub.

He never knew what it was that made him turn back. Some sort of sixth sense? A feeling of unease gnawing at him? An experienced copper's gut reaction? Whatever it was, the sensation caused him to spin around abruptly before he'd even gone more than a couple of steps.

And the Angel had moved.

Gene stared at it in shock. Its head was no longer bowed, its face no longer hidden in its hands. The blank stone eyes regarded him impassively, while the small smile had widened into a malicious leer, revealing just a hint of sharp, preternatural fangs.

_It's a trick_, Gene told himself wildly. _Done with mirrors, or something like that_. Those two gits, Ray and Chris, were just trying to get a rise out of him. And Clever-Clogs Tyler was probably in on it too, it would be just like him to pull a smart-arsed stunt like this to prove a bloody point. Well, they all needed to learn that no-one made a monkey out of the Gene Genie. _Especially_ when he was on his way to the pub!

"Ray! Chris!" he barked, resolutely ignoring the cold feeling crawling up the back of his neck that warned him that this was anything but a joke. "I know you're here somewhere! Unless you want me to very painfully ream you both a new one, I suggest you show yourselves pronto! You too, Tyler!"

But there was nothing but silence and the Angel's dead eyes staring at him, giving him the creeps. Despite his determined bravado, Gene found himself slowly starting to back away.

Amy Pond's voice rang in his mind: "_As long as you're looking at it, you're safe, because they turn into stone when you're watching them. But as soon as you look away, they come to life. And then they come after you!_"

None of this could possibly be happening. He knew that. Once he was down the pub, he would have a good laugh about it all with Nelson the barman. But until then, however stupid it seemed, he had no intention of taking his eyes off the statue.

He had nearly managed to put the full length of the office between himself and the angel when he blinked.

As his eyes re-opened, his heart nearly stopped beating. In that tiny fraction of a second, the Angel had advanced to stand right in front of him. Its mocking smile had contorted into a bestial snarl and its arms were raised, its hands curled into grasping talons, as if it had frozen in the act of reaching for him.

Suddenly, with a chill of horror like nothing he had ever felt before, Gene Hunt understood exactly how Tom Reynolds and the other victims had died. First the overwhelming terror at the nightmarish sight of their unearthly killer, then nothing but pain and darkness as those twisted stone hands literally tore the heads from their bodies.

Fighting back the crippling dread, he felt his usual tough survival instinct kicking in, his streetwise mind already seeking a way out. Whatever this thing was, it stood between him and the only exit to the room. Somehow, he had to get past it without taking his eyes off it, before he had to blink again. Which was easier said than done, because the more he thought about it, the heavier his eyelids seemed to get.

And then his torch flickered and began to fade, the light dimming from bright white to a dull, lustreless yellow. With a stab of trepidation, Gene realised the batteries were failing. Shortly, he would be left completely in the dark. And in the dark, he would no longer be able to see the Angel. Swearing out loud, he shook the torch violently, hoping to jolt it back into life, but to no avail.

The Angel's expression didn't change, remaining as immobile as if it really was carved from stone. Nevertheless, somehow Gene sensed it was amused at his efforts. Hot, red rage boiled through his brain. The bastard _knew_! This was all part of its plan. Guessing the torch would never last long enough for him to make it to the door, he steeled himself to run anyway. If the Gene Genie had to die, at least he'd die fighting, not cowering like some sissy nancy boy.

At that moment, the double doors leading into the passageway were flung open and two more dark figures burst through, one of them brandishing what appeared to be a flaming torch, the blazing orange light illuminating the room and sending weird shadows dancing up the walls.

"Guv!" Sam's familiar voice shouted. "This way! Quick!"

Gene didn't need to be told twice. Confident his DI had the Angel firmly in his sights, he ducked away and sprinted back through the office to join the other two. Belatedly, he realised that Sam's companion was none other than the red-headed girl who had started all this trouble in the first place.

"'Bout time you turned up, Tyler," he puffed, as the three of them ran for their lives up the corridor, surrounded by the protective corona of light emanating from Sam's improvised torch.

The girl shot him a challenging look over her shoulder. "Believe me now, then, DCI Hunt?"

"There's nothing worse than a mouthy bird who just has to say 'I told you so'," Gene growled.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Author's Note: Thanks very much to the people who reviewed the last chapter - Jiwa, Catelly (x 2),_****_ CJaMes12, Theta'sWorstNightmare, egaara, 3LW00D, Bernice-Summerfield and SawManiac211._**

**_Special thanks to SawManiac211 for your lovely, encouraging PM._****  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Not knowing what else to do, Sam led the way back down the stairs to the front office, wanting to put as much distance between them and the Angel as possible. At the foot of the stairs, they nearly tripped over another couple of bodies, dressed in police uniform. With a curse, Sam stopped to feel for a pulse, but it was useless. The Angel was a very efficient killer. These two men would never even have seen what hit them. And God alone knew how many other bodies there were scattered around the station.

Guilt tore at him. He hadn't known these two men personally, but somewhere out there they had families and friends who would now never see them again. He couldn't help thinking that if only he'd believed Amy in the first place, all of this could have been avoided.

"This is my fault," he said, looking up at Gene. "If I'd listened sooner, we could have evacuated the station and everyone would still be alive."

Gene's eyes narrowed. "Don't beat yourself up about it, Tyler," he advised. "I'm one of the most open-minded, reasonable blokes you could come across and I didn't believe it. What makes you think anyone else would?"

Sam climbed wordlessly to his feet. At any other time, he would have grinned at the small, strangled noise Amy made at the DCI's comment. But nothing about this situation was remotely funny, even Gene Hunt claiming to be open-minded. With one last glance at the mangled bodies, he pushed the stairwell door open and they emerged into the front desk area.

Holding the blazing torch high to illuminate the room, Sam strode across to the big, plate-glass doors leading to the outside world. It was immediately obvious that the Angel had been telling the truth – the locking mechanism on the entrance had been melted beyond recognition, fusing the doors together to form an impenetrable barrier. As with most police stations, the glass was bullet-proof and virtually unbreakable. They were trapped. Sam slammed his fists against the doors in frustration. The lights of Manchester glittered enticingly in the distance, promising safety, sanity, _normality_, so close and yet so far away.

He heard Amy give a small cry and looked around. The red-headed girl hurried behind the desk, bending over to closely examine something. With a chill in his heart, Sam saw the stockinged legs protruding from behind the desk, ending in a sensible pair of black, lace-up shoes. Forcing his reluctant feet to move, he made himself cross over to join her, dreading what he knew he was about to see.

Gene was before him, staring down in disbelief at the body on the floor.

"Phyllis," he muttered. "That's Phyllis!"

The WPC's head was twisted at an impossible angle, her skull internally torn from her spine, her filmy eyes gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. Sam swallowed hard against the sickness rising in his throat. Phyllis had always been such a huge part of his life since arriving in 1973. He almost expected her to sit up and start ripping into him for breaching custody procedure. It just didn't seem possible that she would never move again.

"I'm so sorry," Amy said in a low, compassionate voice. "But she's dead. There's nothing we can do."

Gene's face twisted with anger and suppressed grief. He and Phyllis had clashed any number of times, but Sam knew his boss had always respected and even secretly liked the feisty, straight-talking WPC. Squatting down beside her body, the DCI stretched out his hand and gently closed her staring eyes, trying to give her some dignity in death.

"Stupid old battleaxe!" he said gruffly, struggling not to show his emotion. "What'd you have to go and get yourself killed for?"

Without thinking, Sam put his hand comfortingly on Gene's shoulder. To his surprise, his usually cantankerous boss actually let it lie there for a few brief moments before roughly shrugging it off.

Just then, the hand-held radio crackled back into life. "Detective Inspector Tyler? It's Angel Bob here again, Sir. Can you hear me?"

Gene's eyes flicked up to pin his DI with an incredulous glare. "Angel _Bob_?" he mouthed silently.

Sam gestured to him to remain silent and pulled the handset from his pocket, raising it to his mouth. "I hear you, Angel Bob," he answered curtly.

"I expect you've found WPC Dobbs' body by now, Sir," the Angel said.

Sam frowned, turning in an abrupt circle, his eyes exploring the shadows as alarm bells began to ring in his head. How did the Angel know they were in the front desk area? Had it managed to follow them from the CID office? Was it stalking them through the darkness? The eerie thought chilled his blood.

"Why do you say that?" he bit out warily.

"Oh, I know where you are, Detective Inspector," came the calm voice, tinged with mocking amusement, as if it knew every thought in Sam's head and was laughing at him. "The Angels are always with you, Sir."

Sam shot an urgent glance of inquiry at Amy, but she just shook her head blankly. She obviously had no idea what the creature was talking about. He turned his attention back to the radio.

"What's that supposed to mean? How do you know where we are?"

"Why, because of Miss Pond, Sir," the Angel replied. "We are in her eye. I see what she sees. As long as she is with you, I will always know where you are. Until I kill you all, of course."

Amy's hand flew to her eye with a stifled gasp of horror, suddenly realising that she had been betraying them all from the very beginning, without even knowing it. Far from being the advantage she had thought, the sand in her eye was actually the biggest disadvantage of all.

"Oh God!" she whispered. "It's all about _me_. It's been following me all along, _using _me to play with us. This has all been part of its sick hunting game."

The radio in Sam's hand buzzed and fizzed, oblivious to Amy's distress. "I have a proposal for you, Detective Inspector Tyler," the Angel's voice continued.

"What sort of proposal?" Sam snapped.

"Miss Pond is a liability to you, Sir. If she stays with you, I will find you and kill you all. But she has more temporal energy in her body than any other human in this building. She will make a substantial meal for me. The proposal is simple. Give her to me and I will let you and Detective Chief Inspector Hunt live."

Sam didn't even hesitate, knowing instinctively that the Angel was taking more pleasure in trying to turn them against each other. "You can go straight to hell!" he retorted. "We'll never give her to you, so just forget it!"

But the Angel was unruffled by his savage refusal. "Forgive me for saying so, Sir, but you are not the ranking officer, I believe. I would like to negotiate with Detective Chief Inspector Hunt, please."

Sam saw Amy take a defensive step backwards, her eyes wide with apprehension, as if she was unsure how Gene would react to the Angel's offer. She needn't have worried. Anger was radiating from every line of his body, almost tangible in the tension-filled air. Leaping to his feet, he strode across to Sam and snatched the radio from his DI's hand.

"This is DCI Hunt," he snarled. "And I've got only one thing to say, you bastard. Phyllis Dobbs was one of ours. And _nobody_, even the Angel Gabriel himself, comes on to _my_ patch and harms_ my _people without paying for it. So here's a proposal for you, Angel Boy. If I were you, I'd pick up those sissy stone skirts of yours and _run_...while you still can!"

With that, he threw the radio on the floor and ground his foot into it, smashing it into tiny pieces. "End of negotiation."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sam couldn't help the bubble of ironic laughter that rose uncontrollably in his throat. No matter how often Sam had taken him through it, Gene never had learned the finer points of negotiation. But, just for once, Sam couldn't think of anything he could have said better.

"Well, that told him, Guv," he commented dryly.

Gene straightened his shoulders, like a general preparing to lead his troops into battle. "Right then!" he said, surveying his two companions, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Let's work out how to kick the big fairy's arse back into outer space, where it belongs!"


	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's Note: Hi all! Hope everyone had a very merry Christmas. Thanks to the following people for reviewing the last chapter: Catelly, Theta'sWorstNightmare, SawManiac211, 3LW00D, RedBrickandIvy, Bernice-Summerfield, egaara, mericat, The Mouse's Rose and Aietradaea. _**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Amy didn't even realise she had been holding her breath until she found herself letting it out with a soft, relieved whoosh. In the last couple of hours, she had come to the conclusion that she would happily trust Sam Tyler with her life in any situation. But when it came to Gene Hunt, she hadn't been sure at all. The DCI had been nothing but condescending and contemptuous of her from the moment he had first laid eyes on her – she had really had no idea how he would react to the Angel's proposal. However, seeing the hard, determined expression on his face as he crushed the radio beneath his foot, she realised she had done him a disservice. Loud, brash and uncouth he might be, but he was not a coward and he would never betray the people under his care.

"So, what's our first move, Sherlock?" he asked now, looking at Sam. "I just bet Hyde 'ad some sort of fancy procedure for dealing with alien invasion, they've got one for everything else. Come on, Tyler, surprise me!"

"Actually, we didn't," Sam admitted, ignoring his superior's sarcasm with quiet dignity. "But these torches aren't going to last much longer. If we're going to make any sort of a stand against this thing, we need a more permanent light source. And Amy says the Angel can drain any sort of artificial light, so it needs to be natural."

Gene scowled, his gaze flicking across to Amy. "Natural? Like a fire, you mean?"

"Exactly," she nodded. "A big fire would be perfect. If we can hold the Angel off until the morning light comes, we might have a chance."

"Right!" the DCI said decisively, rubbing his hands together. "A sodding big bonfire it is, then."

"Hang on a minute, not so fast! What are you suggesting we use for fuel?" Sam inquired, a worried look spreading over his already-tense face, as if he had already guessed what the answer would be.

"Use your imagination, Tyler!" Gene snapped. "We're in a bloody police station. We're surrounded by paper."

"Guv, please tell me you're not planning to burn our case files," Sam protested. "There's hours and hours of work in those and we don't have any back-up copies!"

"'Course I'm not planning to burn our case files!" Gene retorted. "What do you take me for, a complete prat?"

"Then what...?"

Gene turned on his heel and marched towards the stairs. "I'm planning to burn _Litton's _case files!" he tossed back over his shoulder.

Sam stared after him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Who's Litton?" Amy asked in a low voice.

"The DCI in charge of the Regional Crime Squad," Sam replied, starting to follow Gene towards the stairs. However much he disapproved of the man's methods, he couldn't let him wander off into the dark on his own with the killer Angel on the loose. "They don't exactly get on."

Having been on the receiving end of the Gene Hunt brand of charm, Amy couldn't help feeling some sympathy with the absent DCI Litton. "How surprising," she muttered.

"Tyler! Pond!" Gene's voice floated back down towards them. "Shift yer arses – we 'aven't got all night, you know!"

Sam shot Amy a reluctant grin as they began to climb the stairs together. "Sounds like you're officially one of the team now, _Pond_."

Amy tried to smile back but couldn't quite manage it. Her heart seemed to clench painfully. The Doctor always called her 'Pond'. Somehow it didn't sound quite as reassuring, coming from Gene Hunt. Oh God, she wished she could see that stupid bow tie right now.

_Where are you, Doctor? – please, please...I need you!_

When they arrived in the main RCS office, Gene was already grabbing file after file from the surrounding desks and throwing them haphazardly into a large pile in the centre of the room, the wavering flame of his cigarette-lighter held aloft to light his way in the darkness.

Sam looked aghast at the confused mess of paper heaped on the floor. "Guv, there has to be some other way!"

"If you've got a better idea, I'm just bursting to 'ear it, Dorothy!" Gene growled, tossing another bundle of files on to the pile. "The desks are metal, the chairs are plastic. What else do you suggest we burn?"

Amy watched Sam glance around the office, obviously searching for a reasonable alternative. But Gene was right. Aside from the paper laden case-files, there was nothing else available that was even remotely flammable. With an audible sigh, Sam handed the flickering torch to Amy and began to help his boss to collect up some more of the files.

"That's more like it!" Gene grunted in approval.

Sam gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Bull-shit!" the DCI said cheerfully, as he momentarily disappeared though the door into Litton's office. "This is a life or death situation, Tyler. Litton keeps banging on about being a team-player. I'm sure he'll be only too pleased to 'ave 'elped us out."

"Yeah, I bet," Sam agreed, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Amy surveyed the pile of files anxiously. "Is there going to be enough here to keep the fire going until morning?"

"Plenty more where that came from, luv," Gene told her, reappearing again, his arms fully laden with an unidentified tangle of things. "But just in case, we'd better add these."

With that, he threw his armload of items on top of the heap, where they landed with a clatter. Looking down, Amy realised that they were a collection of wooden photograph frames, most likely memorabilia pulled from the walls of Litton's office. Some held newspaper clippings with front page headlines in bold, black type, and some held photos, but all of them seemed to feature the same dapper dark-haired little man with a moustache and a tight brown suit, smiling smarmily at the camera as he shook hands with the Chief of Police, the Mayor and any number of other important-looking people. Much as Amy hated having anything in common with Gene Hunt, she had to admit, she felt an instant twinge of dislike for DCI Litton.

Ever the voice of reason, Sam tried to protest. "Guv, you can't..."

But Gene had already produced a silver hip-flask from his pocket and was carefully dousing the towering pile in liquid. A strong smell of alcohol suddenly hung in the air.

"Me best single malt whiskey," he said regretfully, waving the hip flask at them. "See, Tyler, we all have to make sacrifices sometimes."

He turned his head towards Amy. "You doing the honours, Pond, or d'you want me to?"

She slanted a glance towards Sam, who just nodded in a resigned manner. Dipping the guttering torch towards the pile, she watched as the warm, yellow flames crawled over the heaped up paper, flaring wildly into life as they came into contact with the alcohol. Soon the entire bonfire was alight. Amy stared at the blaze, mesmerised by the leaping tongues of fire, soaking up the comforting heat radiating against her face. On top of the pile, she could see the photos of DCI Litton beginning to curl and blacken at the edges, before bursting into small, bright flames. In the background, she was vaguely aware that Sam had found a wooden filing cabinet and was busy smashing it into smaller pieces, ready to throw on the fire.

Gene nodded in satisfaction. There was only one entrance into the RCS office. With the golden firelight illuminating the room in a soft glow, the Angel would have no chance of sneaking up on them. As long as they were able to keep the fire going, it would not be able to trap them helplessly in the dark. Amy could only hope that it would be enough to keep them all alive until morning. As for what they would do then, she had no idea. But, as she knew from experience, nothing ever seemed quite as hopeless when you could see what was coming at you.

"Well, kids, what do we do now?" Gene asked sardonically, plonking himself in a nearby chair and putting his feet up on a desk. "Join hands around the fire and sing 'Kumbaya, My Lord'? Maybe toast some marshmallows on a stick?"

Even as he spoke, his stomach growled audibly and he rubbed at it with a rueful expression on his face. "Dunno about you two, but some marshmallows might be actually be good right now," he added. "I'm hungry enough to bite the arse out of a low flying duck."

Then, as Sam shot him a pointed look, he said indignantly, "What? It's been a long time since lunch!"

"We watch and we wait," Sam said, also taking a seat, his eyes focused unwaveringly on the door, his arms folded over his leather jacket. Amy found herself shivering at his flat, serious tone, despite the heat of the fire. "My guess is, the Angel will be coming for us soon."

At that moment, she felt it - the soft, grey dust sifting insidiously down her cheek, like desiccated tears from a long ago grief. "Sooner than you think," she said in a strangled voice, her head whirling towards the door.

And, in the blink of an eye, it was there, framed in the doorway in all its awful glory, pinned in place by Sam's steady gaze. The firelight washed over it in a golden haze, gilding the white perfection of its stone flesh, revealing the horror of its beauty. All subterfuge was gone now. The Angel had no need to pretend to be anything other than what it was - a creature from a nightmare. Its wings were spread wide in anticipation of the kill, its fanged face demonic in its lust and hunger, the pebbled, alien eyes empty of pity or mercy as it looked straight at Amy.

"Time to die, Miss Pond," said the cold, emotionless voice, as unfailingly polite as ever.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Author's Note: Hello there! Bet no-one expected me to update this one tonight, did you? Full of surprises, me._  
**

**_Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed since the last chapter was posted, much appreciated: Romana2, TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel, mericat, Aietradaea, Theta'sWorstNightmare, E.S. Beckett, Heartwing, 3LWOOD, KlinicallyInsaneKoschei, Riddle Wraith, M Elizabeth Penn, SawManiac211, EDZEL2 (x 12), gallifrey calls now, Shannon the Original and MountainLord-92 (x 4).  
_**

**_I'll do you a deal - if you guys all review this chapter too, I promise I'll finish this story before Christmas! ;)  
_**

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"Keep watching it!" Sam bit out, instinctively taking command of the situation, despite the fear churning in his gut. "One of us has to have our eyes on it at all times. If you have to blink, say so, out loud. We need to make sure we don't all do it at once."

"A good plan, Detective-Inspector Tyler," the Angel said, a smirk evident in its calm voice. "But how long can you keep doing it? The three of you are only human and I'm sure it's been a long day for you all. You must all be so tired. How long before one of you makes a mistake and blinks at the wrong time? How long before the heat of the fire makes you drowsy and you nod off, just for a second? Because you know that's all I need...just a second...and one of you dies. Which one will I take first? You, Detective Inspector? No...from what I've seen of you, I think it would be more fun to leave you until last, to allow you to watch the other two die first. The charming Miss Pond, then, her body brimming with delicious temporal energy. Or perhaps you, Detective Chief Inspector Hunt, since this is, as you so succinctly put it, your patch."

"Think yer so bloody clever, don't yer?" Gene snarled, rising to his feet, his face tight with anger. "Think yer got us bang to rights?"

"Have I not, Detective Chief Inspector?" the Angel replied. "There is nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to hide. There is only the challenge of your endurance against mine. And I can wait a very long time."

Even from this distance, Sam could sense the fury and frustration roiling inside his DCI. Gene was a man of action. When he found himself in an impossible situation, he tended to react like a cornered rat, and come out fighting. A stand-off like this was the one thing that was guaranteed to make him lose his cool, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

"Guv..." he began warningly.

But before he could say anything further, he felt Amy touch his arm. "Sam, I need to blink," she said in a low, tense voice.

"Fine, I've got it covered," he returned, fixing his stare on the Angel, even though his own eyes were suddenly starting to ache.

"Done," she said softly.

"Right, my turn. Guv, you too!" Quickly, he closed his eyes, assuming Gene was taking the opportunity to do the same. His sight was enveloped in blessed darkness for just a few seconds. The temptation to leave them closed, to block out the terrifying reality of the Angel, was frighteningly strong. Stubbornly, he forced his reluctant lids open again. The flames from the bonfire reflected redly across the pure white stone of the unmoving Angel, dancing across the creature's wings in a weird tangle of light and shadow, like a messenger of damnation, as if they had all fallen into some weird, biblical pit of hell.

"Not so easy, is it, Detective Inspector?" The Angel was smiling again, a fanged leer that sent cold shivers up his spine. "It looks like it's going to be a very long night. Which of you will fail first, I wonder? Which one of you will get the others all killed?"

Sam didn't answer. Instead, without shifting his gaze, he methodically tossed another heap of files on the fire, sending the flames leaping high in the air in silent defiance. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the Angel was trying to do. Concentrating on not blinking was difficult enough, especially with the heat of the fire drying out their eyeballs, without complicating things by trying to respond to the Angel's taunts. He could only hope that Gene also saw through the creature's tactics and didn't let his famous temper get the better of him.

"So let me make sure I got this straight, Tyler," the DCI spoke up, ignoring the Angel altogether. "While we're watching, this thing's an ordinary statue, like any other, right? Apart from the fact that it can natter on like a bloody old woman, of course."

"It's called 'quantum-locking'," Amy replied tightly. "My friend, the Doctor, says it's the perfect method of defence."

"Is that right? Well, your friend obviously 'asn't met me," Gene told her. "OK, you two, 'old the fort. I'll be back."

With that, he strode around the bonfire, heading straight for the Angel.

"Guv!" Sam shouted. "Where are you going?"

"Like I said, Sammy-boy, I'll be back!"

For just a few, brief seconds, Gene was face to face with the Angel. "Say your prayers, Angel-breath!" he said grimly. "You're gonna need 'em!" Then he ducked under the creature's frozen, outstretched arm, and disappeared out the door into the dark corridor beyond.

"Where's he going?" Amy demanded, panic rising in her voice. "Sam?"

Sam just shook his head. "I've got no idea."

"Oh, Miss Pond," the Angel chided gently. "It's perfectly obvious, isn't it? He's running away because he's scared. DCI Hunt is nothing more than a coward. He's left you and DI Tyler to face me on your own. But no matter, I'll catch up with him soon enough. Just as soon as I've killed the two of you."

But Sam had travelled a long, hard road learning to trust Gene Hunt. Whatever the other man was up to, he knew well enough that the last thing he would ever be was a coward. If he said he would be back, then he would be back. However, until then, without that extra pair of eyes, they were now horribly vulnerable.

"I need to blink again, Sam," Amy said.

"OK, do it."

That's when things started to go very, very bad, very, very quickly. A choked noise of distress came from the Scottish girl's direction. "Amy?" he called. "Amy, are you all right?"

"It's the sand," she gasped. "It's coming faster from my eye, more and more of it. It hurts so much, Sam. I can't keep my eyes open."

Horror arced through Sam's brain like a charge of electricity. He wanted to glance around at her, but he knew that he couldn't. Right now, his gaze was the only thing holding the Angel at bay. "Amy, no! You have to try! I can't do this on my own."

Amy was crying now, great ragged sobs of fear. "I _am _trying and I can't! I can't!"

"I told you, Detective Inspector. We are in her eye," the Angel smirked. "She belongs to the Angels. You really should have given her to me when I gave you the opportunity. Now it's too late for all of you."

"It's not too late," Sam growled, forcing himself to focus, trying desperately to fight back against the film that was forming over his eyes, wanting to blink more than anything in the world. "You haven't won yet."

"Forgive me for saying so, but Detective Chief Inspector Hunt has run away. Miss Pond is unable to help. You are the only one left, Detective Inspector Tyler," the Angel reminded him silkily. "It's you against me. And your eyes must be getting so very heavy by now."

A wave of despair flooded over Sam. The creature was right. It was physically impossible for him to hold the blink back for much longer.

"Amy!" he called frantically, already feeling his eyes starting to close. "AMY! Listen to me! You have to run, NOW!"

"There's too much grit, I can't see anything!" she shrieked. "I can't see to run! I'm blind!"

Sam took a deep, ragged breath, knowing they had both just reached the end of the line. "Then get behind me. I'm going to have to blink, I don't have a choice. The only thing I can do is to make it as quick as possible. If it takes me, you might still have a chance to escape."

"No!" she said fiercely, and he felt her hand slip into his as she stood bravely beside him. "The Angel's right, it's too late for that. If we go, we go together."

"So noble and yet so futile," the Angel mocked. "Goodbye, Miss Pond. Goodbye, Detective Inspector Tyler."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Author's Note: Thanks very much to the following people who reviewed the last chapter - Darkflame5, CJaMes12, Theta'sWorstNightmare, gallifrey calls now and MountainLord-92. Very good to know at least some folks liked the chapter. Just for you guys, here is another one. Only the epilogue to go after this!_  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

_I love you, Annie, _Sam thought despairingly, wishing more than anything that he'd had the chance to say it to her one more time.

And then he blinked.

A tiny, physical action that should have been over in an instant, but instead seemed to take forever. It was the most terrifying thing he had ever done in his life, knowing that he was about to feel the cold stone fingers at his throat, brutally tearing his head from his body.

However, to his surprise, he felt nothing. His eyes sprang open again, raking the fire-lit room. The Angel was now halfway between them and the door, frozen in the graceful leap of a predator, its wings spread wide and its talons reaching, its face twisted into a horrifying grimace of evil hunger.

At first, Sam thought his blink must have been fast enough to save them after all. But then he realised that it wasn't his gaze that had halted the creature's lethal charge. A tall, familiar shadow stood in the doorway, arrogantly surveying the room, like a king looking out over his realm.

Amy's hand tightened on his arm. "Sam? SAM!" she said urgently. "I still can't see! What's happening?"

"It's Gene!" Sam said in overwhelming, dizzying relief. "He's back."

"Miss me, kids?" Gene said, stepping into the light. He had a lit cigarette dangling casually from the corner of his mouth and, over one shoulder, he was carrying an enormous sledgehammer. Sam recognised it as the twenty pound enforcer they had confiscated two weeks ago from a blagger intent on gaining illegal entry to a jewellery store in King Street. It still had the evidence tag dangling from it.

And in that moment of dawning realisation, Sam became aware that he had seriously underestimated his boss yet again. _Why hadn't he seen it? Why hadn't he understood? _Gene might not have a handful of degrees in psychology, but he was street smart in a way most other coppers could only dream about. Not only had he completely ignored the Angel's attempt at psychological warfare, he had also seen right through the malicious taunts to the hidden truth the creature had so desperately tried to make them too scared to understand. _While we're watching, this thing's an ordinary statue, like any other, right? _

The Doctor was right – the quantum-locking _was_ the perfect defence mechanism, a weapon of stealth, enabling the Angels to prey upon other species undetected. But it only worked until the prey figured out exactly what was going on. From that moment, the game changed and it became just as much of a weakness as a strength. Because although the humans were terrifyingly vulnerable while they were_ not_ looking at the Angels, the truth was that the Angels were equally helpless when they _were_.

"Oh, YES!" Sam exclaimed triumphantly.

Seeing the understanding sweep across his DI's face, Gene gave him a quick, hard wink and stepped around to confront the frozen Angel.

"What?" Amy cried, digging her long fingernails painfully into Sam's arm. "What's he doing?"

"He's got a sledgehammer!"

Gene planted his feet firmly on the ground and began to heft the enormous hammer in his black-gloved hands, unhurriedly getting used to the balance of it, and making absolutely sure the Angel could see what was coming. "That's right, and I'm about to use it to teach this overgrown lawn ornament a little lesson in manners!"

The Angel didn't move – couldn't move, while it was pinned under their eyes – but Sam could have sworn that the marble features now held fear instead of malice. Pulling Amy with him, he backed as far away from the Angel as he could, putting a safe distance between them and what he knew was about to happen.

"Word to the wise, pal," Hunt added in a harsh voice, looking directly into the thing's face. "When the Gene Genie tells you to run, that's exactly what you should do, 'cos there ain't no second chances."

With that, he pulled back his arms and swung the hammer with all his might. The twenty-pound head drove powerfully into the Angel's right wing, smashing it into a hundred jagged pieces. At the same time, an appalling high-pitched shrieking sound tore through the air. Unable to look away, Sam put his hands over his ears, wincing at the almost physical pain caused by the hideous noise. Beside him, he could feel Amy doing the same thing. Hearing the unnatural sound of the Angel laughing in a dead man's voice had been bad enough – hearing it scream was indescribable.

But Gene didn't even flinch. Instead, he pulled the sledgehammer back over his shoulder, preparing for another swing. "Go on then, you stone bastard, scream!" he hissed. "Scream like Phyllis did before she died!"

Another crash reverberated through the room and the Angel's left wing crumbled into pieces, collapsing in a small cloud of white dust. Next to go were the raised arms, frozen while reaching so cruelly for Sam's throat, now shattered into impotent slivers of white marble under Gene's determined assault. And all the while, the screaming noise intensified in both pitch and volume.

Panting slightly from the exertion of swinging the heavy implement, the DCI's cold, grey-green eyes zeroed in remorselessly on the Angel's leering face and his gaze seemed to harden even further, etched with contempt. "Say goodnight, Gracie!" he gritted out.

Again he pulled his arms back and again the hammer flew, striking the Angel's head dead centre with lethal force, exploding it into unrecognisable fragments. The screaming noise stopped abruptly. After that, everything seemed to fall into slow motion for Sam. All he could see was the relentless rise and fall of the hammer, tiny explosions of white stone dust puffing across the room as his boss meticulously smashed the nightmarish creature into smithereens.

At last, when he could raise the hammer no more, Gene stopped, lowering the head of the implement wearily to the floor and leaning on the handle, breathing heavily as he looked around at the devastation he had wrought. Pulverised shards of white marble littered the floor everywhere, all that was left of the self-styled Angel Bob.

Sudden, stunned silence fell across the room like a blanket. Sam heard Amy gasp beside him. Realising that there was nothing left that he needed to stare at, he turned his head woodenly towards her, like a puppet on a string. Her head was bowed, her hands covering her eyes.

"He's done it," she whispered in wonder, slowly pulling her hands away and blinking owlishly in the firelight. "The sand...it's stopped flowing. Oh my god, Sam, your boss just single-handedly killed a Weeping Angel!"

Sam turned back to Gene, trying to find something to say. But the shock of the abrupt ending to their ordeal seemed to have frozen his vocal chords, because although his mouth worked, no sound came out.

Gene's gaze met his and the DCI nodded curtly, before taking a deep drag on his cigarette and expertly blowing a smoke ring in the air. "See, Tyler?" he said smugly. "Sometimes the old-fashioned way is the best after all."

Amy gave an incredulous gurgle of laughter and threw her arms around Sam. "We're alive!" she shouted.

Gradually the realisation that it was all over began to sink into Sam's brain. He wasn't going to die here in this dingy little room. He would see Annie again, he would be able to tell her he loved her. Suddenly life seemed almost unbearably sweet.

"We're alive!" he echoed, picking Amy up and spinning her wildly around in a dance of victory. "WE'RE ALIVE!"

Then, putting her down, he walked over to Gene and extended his hand. "That was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen," he said sincerely. "You just saved all our lives. I can't thank you enough, Guv."

Gene hesitated for a moment and then put his hand in his DI's and shook it. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. "And I _mean_ that, Dorothy, don't mention it...I'm the ranking officer, it's my job to look after my team. There's no need to get all girly and gushy on me."

Sam grinned jubilantly. Coming from Gene Hunt, the acknowledgement had been almost affectionate.

"Oh, and Tyler...?"

The question was edged with almost imperceptible uncertainty, bordering on real anxiety. Looking into Gene's craggy face, Sam felt something like compassion stirring inside him. After everything that had happened today, the DCI had to be questioning everything he had ever believed in. Gene had always been so narrow-minded, so set in his ways. The discovery that aliens actually existed would have to be the shock of a lifetime, proving to him once and for all that there were things in the Universe beyond his limited understanding. Perhaps now, once things settled down a bit, Sam might finally be able to explain his own origins in the future to Gene without him calling the little men in the white coats. Suddenly, he felt closer to his boss than he ever had before.

"Yeah, Guv?" he replied, waiting for the deep and meaningful question that would set their new understanding in motion.

"D'you think if I hurry, I might still make it to the pub before closing time?"

* * *

_**Another Author's Note: OK, so all that time ago when I first started this story, I was inspired by something I saw on a forum, where somebody mentioned that they thought the Angels weren't at all scary, because all you would need to sort one out was a sledgehammer. Once I read that I couldn't help thinking how awesome the Gene Genie would be in that situation, and so this fic was born. Hopefully, no-one is disappointed with the plot resolution :)**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's Note: Hooray, after all this time, I have finally reached the last chapter. Thanks so much to everybody who has taken the time to review this over the last couple of years, sorry it took so long to finish. **_

_**Apparently, some folks liked the previous chapter, some did not, and most just didn't bother to let me know one way or the other. Special thanks to those who did review: KlinicallyInsaneKoschei (so great to have you back!), MountainLord-92, Theta'sWorstNightmare, DarkFlame5, gallifrey calls now, mericat (x 3 – also great to have you back!) and Guest.**_

_**To Guest: Since you ask, yes, you are wrong. If you knew anything about my writing, you would be aware that I'm one of the biggest John Simm fans on this earth, so I would hardly write a LoM story that under-rates Sam, now would I? If you had bothered to read the earlier chapters, you would have seen that Sam has had more than his share of figuring things out and saving people, including Gene. Also, if you think that the original series of LoM was all about Sam being the big hero and Gene standing around looking stupid while he did it, you must have been watching a different show to me. It was about two people with entirely different methods of working having to co-operate, with both of them eventually learning from each other and coming to respect each other. That was one of the main reasons Sam decided to stay in 1973 at the end. Saying that Gene is a Neandearthal is a very one-dimensional opinion of his character, since he was actually very intelligent and, in the show, quite often surprised Sam by getting results with his rough and ready methods, which is the premise I've carried through into this fic. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem whatsoever with receiving concrit – I just prefer to receive it from someone who has actually READ my story. So, with respect, perhaps next time you could read the whole thing before posting critical and unwarranted reviews, instead of just "skimming" one isolated chapter – maybe then you would know what you were talking about. Also, it would be a lot more polite if you could SIGN IN before leaving your opinion, so that I know who I'm talking to. Thank-you.**_

_**OK, after that lengthy preamble, here is the last chapter. Hopefully you all enjoy!**_

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**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

The last glowing embers of the enormous bonfire were crumbling away into grey ash. Overhead, free now of the Angel's influence, the yellow fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, bathing the RCS office in the usual dim, urine-coloured illumination, as if nothing had ever happened.

Gene had already left, marching out the door and heading back down the stairs to his own office, drawn by the enticing siren call of the whiskey bottle stashed in the top drawer of his filing cabinets. The huge sledgehammer lay on the floor, abandoned amongst the scattered remnants of the broken Angel, the evidence tag still dangling from the handle.

Sam couldn't help staring at it as he sank into a nearby chair, his previous elation sliding away into depression. How the hell were they going to explain all this when people started arriving in the morning? he wondered bleakly. Phyllis was dead, together with any number of uniformed officers. The RCS Office was practically destroyed – nearly all their files burnt, Litton's office rifled and desecrated, the main room covered in soot and smelling even more like an overflowing ashtray than usual. And the only thing they had to explain it all was the smashed up remains of an angel statue and a wild story about psychopathic killer aliens. Litton was going to have an absolute field day with this one. If any of them managed to avoid being committed to an insane asylum, it would be a miracle.

His eyes shifted to the red-haired girl standing nearby. She was carefully wiping the last sandy residue from her eyes with a pocket handkerchief.

"Better?" he asked.

Amy blinked at him and nodded, her eyes blood-shot and watery, but lucid enough. "Yeah, everything's slowly starting to come back into focus. There doesn't seem to be any permanent damage."

_Phyllis mightn't agree, _Sam reflected heavily, but he didn't voice the thought. Instead, he asked, "So...what will you do now?"

She shrugged despondently. "I have no idea. It looks like I'm stranded here, doesn't it? At least until the Doctor finds me, anyway."

"Well, you won't be alone," Sam promised. Amy wasn't really his problem, but after everything that had happened, he couldn't help feeling responsible for her. No-one knew better than him how crazy it felt to be dumped out of the blue into a timeline not your own. "I'll help you. After all, I've had quite a bit of experience settling into a new time."

"Thanks, future boy," she said, with a rueful smile. "Manchester, 1974...not exactly where I planned to spend my life, you know. I haven't even been born yet."

"It's not so bad, once you get used to it," he said, grinning back. "Maybe I can get you a job in the station canteen. All the free food you want...no-one else will eat it!"

Amy gave a muffled snort of ironic laughter. "Oh, the career possibilities!"

Before Sam could respond, a sudden breeze blew through the room, whipping loose file papers across the floor in a merry dance. The air was filled with a peculiar wheezing, groaning sound. Sam jerked reflexively to his feet, his entire body tensed in alarm at the unearthly noise. He had never heard anything like it before. But Amy clearly had, because her face lit up in utter joy.

"Doctor!" she cried.

In the corner of the room, just near the entrance to Litton's office, a strange blue shape began to coalesce, fading in and out at first, but steadily becoming more and more tangible, until Sam could recognise it as an old-fashioned police box. A light was flashing on and off on the top, synchronising perfectly with the grinding sound.

Sam's jaw dropped in astonishment and he rubbed at his eyes. Amy's words from hours ago, back in the cells, floated through his startled brain. _The Doctor...h__e's not from Earth. I travel with him, through time and space, in a blue police box. It's called a TARDIS and it's bigger on the inside than on the outside..._

He wanted to say that he didn't believe it, wanted to tell himself it was some kind of hallucination brought on by shock, but after the weird events of today, nothing seemed beyond the realms of possibility, even a police box magically materialising in the middle of the RCS office.

In a few moments, the wheezing noise stopped and the police box condensed into a solid shape. Almost immediately, one of the doors opened inward with a distinct creak, and a head poked out. It appeared to be a young man in his mid-twenties, with floppy, wind-blown, brown hair and a worried expression.

The newcomer's eyes latched on to Amy and a wild grin of relief streaked across his face. "Pond! There you are!"

"Doctor!" Amy cried again, running across to him and throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Then she pulled back and looked at him sternly. "You took your time, didn't you? I was starting to wonder if you you were going to take another twelve years to turn up!"

"Sorry about that," the man said sheepishly. "Took me a while to recalibrate the briode nebuliser to track down your biometrical signature within the Time Vortex. Still...I'm here now! All's well that ends well!"

He stepped out of the police box and looked around. Sam was able to see that he was tall and thin, wearing a tweed jacket over a greyish shirt, complete with navy blue bow-tie and braces; black jeans, rolled up at the bottom; and black, lace-up boots. It was an odd, professor-like ensemble, but somehow it suited the man to an absolute 'T'.

"Blimey!" he commented. "This place is a mess. Is it the cleaner's day off or something?"

Amy made a stifled huffing noise. "It was a Weeping Angel, actually!" she said in an acid voice, her arms folded. She was obviously still more than a little miffed with her friend for taking so long to get back to her. After everything that had happened, Sam couldn't really say he blamed her.

"A Weeping Angel?" the Doctor spluttered, his head jerking back and forth, his eyes passing unseeingly over Sam, apparently dismissing him as irrelevant as he searched for the stone Angel. "Why didn't you say so, Pond? Those things are lethal, who knows how many people it'll kill if it gets loose? Where is it? Is it still in here?"

"Calm down, Raggedy Man, it's been dealt with," Amy said. "It's currently in pieces all over the floor." Grabbing Sam by the arm, she pulled him forward. "This is Detective Inspector Sam Tyler. He and his boss were the ones who destroyed it. With a sledgehammer!"

The Doctor grasped Sam's hand and shook it distractedly, with the air of someone who wasn't really paying attention, his mind on more important things. "Hello, well done, good to meet you. I'm the Doctor."

Then he turned back to Amy and cupped her face with his hands, looking closely into her eyes. "Are you sure you're all right, Pond? There aren't too many things in the Universe more dangerous than a Weeping Angel and..._wait a minute_..."

He stopped dead, right in the middle of his sentence, as if he had been hit on the head with a brick.

"Doctor?" Amy queried anxiously. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer, but instead slowly pivoted back toward Sam, his blue-green eyes piercing and intent, as if he was properly seeing the Detective Inspector for the first time. The savage look of recognition on his face was so unsettling that Sam instinctively took a wary step backwards.

"_Master!_" The Doctor's tone of voice was a contradiction in terms – full of loathing and contempt, but under that, a strange, desperate sort of elation. It was almost as if he was undergoing some sort of internal, emotional tug-of-war. Whoever he thought Sam was, the Doctor didn't want to be glad to see him and yet, despite himself, he was. "You're alive! Oh, I should have known! What are you doing here? How did you escape the Time Lock? Why didn't I sense you?"

Sam put his palms up in a calming gesture, trying to halt the torrent of questions. "Look, I don't know who you think I am, but my name is Detective Inspector Sam Tyler!"

"Oh, don't give me that!" the Doctor spat, taking a threatening step forwards. "We've known each other far too long to play these moronic games. Sam Tyler, indeed! Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't realise that's an anagram of 'masterly'? You've always liked your little word games, haven't you, as far back as I can remember. Now, I'll ask you again – what are you doing here and why can't I sense you? What have you done this time?"

Sam looked pointedly at Amy, silently urging her to call her friend off.

"Doctor..." she intervened uncertainly.

But the Doctor wasn't listening. Instead, he pulled out a strange, bronze coloured rod with a glowing green diode at the tip and began to run it all over the detective's body, like the airport security Sam remembered from 2006. There was a loud buzzing sound like a horde of angry bees. With a deft flick of his wrist, the Doctor inspected the device.

"Faint aura of temporal energy, but otherwise human. Only one heart. No, that can't be right. It _can't _be!"

"Doctor!" Amy said again, more firmly this time. "It's not what you think. He's a time traveller, like us. He originally comes from 2006. He got sent back to this time through some kind of accident!"

"That's what he wants you to think!" the Doctor snapped, not removing his eyes from Sam's for one second. "Where is it, Master?"

Sam stared at him blankly, sure now he was dealing with a total nut-case. Were all aliens this insane? "Where's _what_?"

"The fob-watch. The gold watch. You have to have one somewhere. It's got strange designs engraved on the back and you've never been able to open it."

Sam shook his head. "I've never had anything like that."

"_You have to!_" the Doctor insisted, a note of desperation in his voice. "We're the only ones left! You have to!"

Surging forward, he began to reach into the pockets of Sam's leather jacket, obviously searching for something. "Where is it, Master? WHERE IS IT?"

Finally reaching the end of his patience, Sam shoved him violently away. "My name is Sam Tyler! And I've never met you before in my life!" he yelled.

Amy caught at the Doctor's arm, holding him back. "Doctor, what's the matter with you? You're acting crazy! Can't you see you've made a mistake? You've got him confused with someone else!"

For a moment, it looked as if the Doctor was going to angrily break free from her, and Sam tensed, preparing for another tussle. But then the other man seemed to regain command of himself. He stopped and took a deep breath, running his hands through his floppy hair, making it even more untidy. Then, raising his eyes, he locked his gaze on to Sam's in a long, penetrating stare, as if he was trying to see through Sam's eyes, right into his skull.

Sam met his gaze without flinching, determined not to back down, whatever this was all about.

After a short, tense interval, the Doctor's blue-green eyes seemed to cloud over in dull sorrow. "It's true," he said. "You're really not him, are you?"

"I told you," Sam replied, as gently as possible. "I'm Sam Tyler, nothing more, nothing less."

"My apologies." The Doctor's shoulders were hunched now, his posture now much more reminiscent of an old man than the young man he appeared to be. "I thought...well, as Amy says, I mistook you for someone else. Someone I used to know. Someone who's dead."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured, unsure what to say.

The Doctor shook his head, a tight, painful smile plastered across his face. "Don't be. It's probably for the best." With that, he looked back over his shoulder at Amy, where she was still holding on to his arm. "Well, come along then, Pond. We've got places to go, people to see. Can't stay in Manchester forever, you know." His voice was brittle and cheerful, as if it was about to break in half any moment.

His eyes returned to Sam's face, an odd, wistful, almost hungry expression in them, as if he was committing his features to memory one last time. "Goodbye...Sam Tyler."

With that, he walked away and vanished back into the police box. Watching him go, Sam found himself hoping that Amy had been telling the truth about the time machine being bigger on the inside, otherwise it had to be a very uncomfortable, cramped way for the two of them to travel.

"I'm sorry about that," Amy said with an apologetic grimace. "He's not usually that weird... well, actually, he is, but not quite like that. I don't know what got into him."

"It's OK," Sam answered. "It's turning out to be that kind of day."

She slanted him a teasing glance. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us? We could drop you back in 2006, if you wanted? I promise you the Doctor doesn't bite."

He smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. Once upon a time, I would have jumped at the chance. But I've already made my choice. And I chose Annie."

To his surprise, Amy grabbed him and kissed him passionately on the lips. For just a few startled seconds, he found himself returning her embrace and then they pulled self-consciously apart. "Your Annie is a very lucky girl, I hope she realises that!" Amy said huskily, stroking his cheek.

"So is your Rory," he replied, without thinking.

Amy frowned in puzzlement. "Rory? Who's Rory?"

"Your fiancé, who else?"

"I don't even have a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé. Certainly no-one called Rory," she said suspiciously. "Why did you say that?"

Sam had no idea why he had said it. It had seemed right at the time, but now he couldn't remember where the thought had come from. "I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood."

Whatever the reason, his words seemed to have had a profound effect upon Amy. All at once, she had an absorbed expression on her face, as if she was struggling hard to remember something.

"I..." she stuttered. "I..."

But then it appeared the effort was too much and her features relaxed again into serenity, as if nothing had happened.

"Goodbye, Sam. Thanks for everything. Take care!" she told him, with one last hug. "And make sure you say goodbye to Gene for me."

"Yeah, I will. Goodbye, Amy."

Waving, she followed the Doctor into the TARDIS and closed the doors. Once again, the wheezing noise reverberated throughout the room and the police box began fading in and out, before disappearing completely, leaving Sam standing all alone.

Even before he could gather himself together, a familiar voice bellowed up the corridor, demanding his instant attention. "TYLER!"

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wondered if there was any whiskey left. The odds were, he would need some before he tried to tell Gene what had happened to their chief witness, the lovely Amelia Pond.

"Coming, Guv," he yelled back, turning for the door with a resigned sigh.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts as he left the room, he failed to notice as, behind his back, tiny fragments of stone began to slither across the floor, heading for the invisible pool of temporal energy left behind by the departing TARDIS.

**- THE END -**


End file.
